Here is an excerpt from the introduction:
TO THAT MARVEL OF WOMANHOOD who is satisfied in reaching her potential as a female but is envious of no other males or females in the way they reach theirs. She is neither Steinemesque nor a Totaled Woman. She is as fulfilled being the mistress of the home, civilizer of the male animal, and the principal creator and molder of the next generation as she might be running a drill press five days a week, buying and selling commodities on the futures market, or playing viola in the Philharmonic just because she wants to.
Not only is she happy to be a woman, but her consciousness as to a woman's worth is already high without the benefit of rap sessions or placard waving. And though she is for women's rights and equal salaries, she doesn't mind washing her husband's golf socks without pay.
She may have no inclination to compete for competition's sake with men in a coal mine, a boardroom, or a foxhole; picket an allmale Little League game; or even feel the need to call a manhole cover a personhole cover. It is no symbol of enslavement to wipe a kid's nose, and she knows that her toddler's gender role will be no different giving the little girl a ray gun and the boy a Barbie doll for Christmas. She is convinced that being with them before the age of six and counseling them at puberty is as important as writing an ad for a deodorant. She shows no signs of penis envy, is looking for no Mr. (or Ms.) Goodbar, and despite the fad, considers a vibrator something to mix paint with.
She may enjoy clothes, her all-female bridge club, and Saturday night out with her husband. And if she would rather spend her spare hours volunteering in a nursing home than in a gym practicing to lift three hundred pounds in the next Olympics, it doesn't make her a traitoress to the cause of liberation.
She may be just as talented and happy as those women "out of the house," yet complain less, in her role of creating the warmth and magic of a home, than that female account executive who lives it up with the martinied lunches or the city councilperson who drinks beer with, the boys in the back room.
Despite her lack of time in manning the ramparts for abortion on demand, her lack of interest for or against lesbian liberation, and her confusion over ERA, she's not at odds with those that do.
Also, a proud admission of male chauvinism should in no way be construed as my personal pique against the archfeminists. In fact, I hope the exposure of both the fact and fancy of the species Persona Rabida Feminist shows not a shred of vindictiveness just because of those accusations of sexism that have been made against my person. Some of the more shrill Steingreers will naturally bring up my international chauvinist ranking (hot on the heels of Pope Paul VI number one, and Teddy Kennedy, number two,) and indict this book as a subtle ploy to bolster it. Nothing could be further from the truth. My respect and admiration is unbounded for that marvel of reasonable and skeptical womanhood who neither needs nor heeds the hot and heavy urgings of either the Abzugians to the left of her or the Schlaflyites to the right of her. This book is only a defense manual against the ravings and ravages of that more androgynous species-the militant feminist.
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