We have a serious natural resource shortage today, and it's not oil, coal or natural gas. It's class, more specifically a shortage of females who know how to use the wiles of their sexuality.
I recently came across a replay of Hugh Hefner's 80th birthday party on TV. I watched for a few minutes the same way you would watch a train wreck or liposuction on the Discovery Channel.
Hefner appeared tired, like he was thinking a 9 o'clock bedtime wouldn't have been a bad idea after all. At times his mouth gaped with a sort of disconnectedness as he watched the, uh, performers.
Performers is an overstatement. Let's just say even your most experienced floozies, bar flies and hussies could catch a chill prancing around in such little attire.
What was most amazing were the number of floozies crowding onto the stage, slinking, writhing and crying for attention. Look at me! Look at me! Supply outstripped demand in more ways than one.
Couple Hef's party with the endless stream of stories on Paris and Nicole, Lindsey, Britney, a tearful and tawdry Miss America, the strippers at Duke and Girls Gone Wild, and we logically conclude that we are witnessing the fruition of the sexual revolution -- women behaving like the most degenerate of men.
It has been a race to the bottom and, by bimbo, we gals have given it our all.
Last month, a mother in England was searching for gifts for her two daughters, ages 10 and 11, when she came across the Peekaboo, a pole-dancing kit sold in the children's toy and game section on the website of Britain's leading chain store. "Unleash the sex kitten inside . . . extend the Peekaboo pole inside the tube, slip on the sexy tunes and away you go!"
Never before has a gender squandered such great power with such little thought.
Female sexuality was never meant to be given away carte blanche. The charms and mysteries of being female were designed to be guarded closely and released slowly, a smidgen at a time, to tease, to lure, to catch a fellow's eye, to commence a conversation, to cement a relationship, to bring a bit of loveliness to the world at large. Which, of course, all sounds rather quaint and Jane Austenesque in light of today's "the more-vulgar-the-better" standard.
Now paging Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly and Jackie O. They were women who understood the art of femininity. They understood the value of allure and coy, the vast power of understatement. They practiced subtly. They embodied mystery, gentleness and reserve.
There is little mystery today, few matters are held in private, and virtually nothing is left to the imagination. The sexual revolution has been neither kind nor pretty. Nor healthy. Witness the massive push for the new cervical cancer vaccine designed to target a sexually transmitted virus.
Yet, not all feminine charms are wasted. You still see them practiced by the smart ones, the ones who understand that sexy can mean keeping it covered and that you don't give away the store.
Audrey Hepburn, the essence of elegance, understood that femininity was far more than packaging. She often quoted a poem by Sam Levenson called "Time Tested Beauty Tips." It is a little piece of prose that totally gets it.
". . .The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides."