It's a subject that needs to be brought into the light. Men do it. Women do it. Some should do it more...or less. Sometimes it's spoken about in passing. Sometimes we talk about it amongst each other. The time has come to open up and tell it like it is. It's grooming. I'm not going to cover basic cleanliness, showering and the like. If you don't do that, you're not reading this anyway. Some of these things have long been a mystery and should. Some have been a mystery and it could be they should remain so. Get over it.

Eyebrows: Puzzling right? Women spend so much time plucking and waxing to get the 'perfectly' shaped brow and perish the stray hair. Then use a pencil to fill them in. I know, crazy huh? Some women shave or remove the brow ENTIRELY and then draw the whole thing in. I guess to they can be artistic and create a brow that suits their mood. Actresses in the 30's and 40's did this. Some cultures do this. Do we need to do this? Sounds a little labor intensive. Or redundant. Or something. As I get older I find that mine are thinning. Thinning?! Why can't the hair on my legs thin? More on that later.

And guys. Eyebrow grooming isn't just for girls anymore. The unibrow went out with cro-magnon man, but then he didn't have tweezers. There should be a gap between the eyebrows...plural. Clean it up a bit. By the way if you can comb or style them, they need to be trimmed. Enough said.

Facial Hair: Everybody has it. Yes, I said everybody. I have heard a gazillion (give or take) men complain about shaving everyday. STFU. Shave your legs. Have a beard or moustache? Keep it neat, keep it clean and groom it. If you have a splayed bristle brush on your lip, well...not so much. And Grizzly Adams was cancelled. Why? Because of his beard. There are myriad tools on the market to tame the savage beast. Invest. While you're at it, pick up that handy tool that will ream out the nose and ear hair. There is nothing sexier than a man that looks like he has a small rodent hiding in his nostrils. Hubba, hubba.

Don't think you are alone. You mock women with a 'moustache'. Really? Try menopause, hormones, thyroid or bad damn genes. Wiry chin hairs. Sideburns. Lip hair. And they appear out of NOWHERE! One day all clear. Next morning, BAM! Lest I forge, wild nipple hairs, fu..pluck that. It's a beautiful thing. There's a multi-million dollar market aimed at hair removal for women. Tell that to your Italian grandmother.

Fingers and Toes: Another industry making money hand over fist. (Couldn't resist.) From lotions to acrylic, a fortune is spent by women to keep those fingernails looking good. Not all women certainly. Short, clean nails are great. That said, jagged broken nails with a crescent of grime under them is...gross. Um, let me shake your hand. It's not good on ANYONE. Gentlemen, women notice this. Seriously.

Some men like long, sexy fingernails but I hear more men talk about feet. A person can actually get fake nails on their toes! That's having too much time on your...hands? The main thing for everyone, clean. Having a pedicure is relaxing, you don't have to go to a spa. Healthy feet are important. Dirty jungle feet. Well. I have seen heels that could be used to sand furniture, and again this goes for the guys too. You won't lose your 'man card' if you trim your nails and use some damn lotion once in awhile. (That doesn't mean gnawing them off. Don't ask how I know.) I saw a guy yesterday who should have been arrested for wearing flip flops. His toenails were a deadly weapon. If you weren't at least inspired to vomit, he could cut you. I kid you not.

Leg Shaving: Gack! As previously mentioned, when men complain about shaving their face everyday I want to...well they should shave their legs everyday for a week. Please. Just think about the surface area. The curves, angles, the contortions. You get the picture. Here's a hint: If you notice that your lady has rendered her gams into a state of sexy, silky smoothness, say so. Appreciate it. If you notice stubble or roughness. Keep it to yourself. Your (sex) life may depend on it. You have hairy legs (the majority of you) start nagging about ours and we might revolt and go all European on your asses.

The Other Things: There is a lot of grooming going on in the nether regions. The Brazilians are a twisted people. I know many, many people have this procedure done to one degree or another. All in an effort to make the 'area' aesthetically pleasing. And to wear a string that goes up your ass and walk on the beach. The idea of wax being applied from stem to stern and the hair being ripped out just doesn't appeal. (Although some places offer what's called 'Scream Cream' before waxing to numb the area. Pffft.) Yeah, I'll go hang out with the toenail guy. Speaking of that, the guys do it too. Somehow that idea makes me more nauseous than women having it done. A little trimming and grooming is one thing. S&M is another. But that's just me.

As an aside, a new trend in the realm of grooming and sex appeal...Vajazzling. Yep. If you have money to burn and want to feel sexy (?) this is for you. You can now decorate your vagina and southward with rhinestones and Swarovski crystals. I know! After the aforementioned waxing you can have jewels applied regionally for that sexy sparkle your man is going to LOVE! God knows he would have nothing to do with you if there wasn't the possibility of getting the imprint of hearts and flowers on his...himself. They stay glued on for up to 5 days. What a deal!

I'm through with menopause. Finished. Whew. I had surgically induced menopause ten years ago at age 35. I could not wait for my girl guts to be removed. They had caused me nothing but time, trouble and pain since the advent of my period or as it was once called, aptly for me, the curse.

I knew there were myths about 'the change'. I remember my Grandma and aunts talking about it. I thought we had become more enlightened. It’s the 21st century. I thought that as women we were a sisterhood, we communicated better, had more answers, shared and didn't keep secrets. I was WRONG!!!

Oh, there are lots of cute little jokes about hot flashes or power surges. Night sweats, hair loss and hair growth, skin changes and incontinence. Newsflash! These are just the tip of the iceberg and your post-menopausal friends are hiding the dark secrets of menopause from you. They're hiding their sadistic glee at watching you go through it, this is one of the symptoms.

Hot flashes: Sounds kind of harmless. Heat. Flash. A momentary feeling of being of overheated. Not! A hot flash is walking into 4x4 room with kiln wearing a fur coat while having heart palpitations, the door slamming behind you. Your skin feels like you feel asleep during a heat wave in Death Valley. This can last for several minutes, but it only seems like hours. Oh, and it can happen several times a day. Power surge my ass.

Night sweats: Closer to being apt. However you don't wake up in the morning with damp pajamas and say "Oh my, I must have become a little overheated whilst the sandman was here." Nay, nay. You will wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. You'll think you have suddenly developed malaria. Your light sleeping t-shirt is so wet you could wring it out and water your houseplants. Your hair is plastered to your skin. You are sticky and clammy as are your sheets and your pillow. You dry off, change and cool off, somewhat refreshed. Weary, bleary and confused you return to your slumber. Get your rest! It could happen again. Tonight.

Hair loss/Hair growth: Now gray hair isn't the only issue to be concerned about, the hair can begin to thin OR there is hair loss, on your head! Male pattern baldness (sexist, I know), the color starts to fade. The curtains no longer match the rug. Sometimes. Many women lose hair and gray "down there" as well. Have you had a woman "friend" mention this. Pffft. Then, yes it gets worse. Hair growth. Oh sure, make jokes about the poor guy whose eyebrows, nose hair and ear hair have grown out like kudzu. But be careful. Karma may bite you in the butt. Some men look great with a mustache. Women...not so much. I now have one. On one side. Sparse. But it's there. Bleach products have the effect of battery acid on my face, but feel free to try that. Plucking works, but it is hard to see in the mirror when you're crying. Electrolysis or laser is an option if you have a college fund for your child you want to dip into. I use a razor. Then...you have the wild hairs. We're talking about hair that could be harvested and used in the brushes used to clean barbeques. I have five on my chin and neck. Black as the ace of spades on my fair, aging skin. And nobody tells you about the gray, yes gray, and black hairs that appear around your nipples. Woo hoo! I didn't groom this much when I was twenty. Tweezers are my friend, they are not a tool, an instrument or some kind of handy plucking device. They are literally, my friend.

Skin changes: In the best of times, my skin was never great. After menopause, well some may blame it on aging, BUT remember I went through this at 35. Brown spots. Thickening. Glow? Brightness? Smooth and elastic? Yes! I buy Dutch Boy semi-gloss in nude peach and roll it on everyday. Delightful. Fills in pores and wrinkles, covers spots, evens out skin tone and gives you that youthful glow. Plus you can buy it by the gallon! Oh, and your neck. Remember in grade school when you would take your Elmer's glue and spread a thin coat on your hand and watch it dry and get crinkly and kind of like snake skin. Yeah, well that's what your neck will look like. And there's nothing you can do about it. Deal with it.

Incontinence: You thought you experienced this when you were pregnant. You were told to do Kegels and work those muscles and whip everything back into shape. Well, that is a lie perpetuated by the Kegel Foundation. You're going to work those muscles all right. Holding it in. This particular 'symptom' can develop into a real handicap. You actually have to stop and consider whether you want to sneeze, cough, stand-up, drink coffee - or anything, laugh, fart, bend over, I could go on. Who can control all of that and their bladder? I defy you to do it. Go ahead. Really. Try.

Being a woman is great. I wouldn't have it any other way. I just think it's time for someone to speak up and get these issues out in the open. No more cover-ups. No more illusions. We can handle it. Information is POWER! Sweaty broads with hairy chins UNITE!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to change my underwear. Damned allergies.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the long anticipated and hotly debated response to Mz. Cyprah's legendary article, "The 5 Key Elements That Attract Women to Men." That was the article that inspired me to shoot my mouth off and ask the impeccably insightful Mz. Cyprah to write a gender-equitable exchange in the form of an article from the man's point of view. This is, after all, the dawning if the 21st century, and we should be able to keep a level playing field when discussing the Happiness of Pursuit.

Mz. Cyprah, being the intuitive and intelligent woman that she is, immediately agreed. She insisted I start writing it immediately. When I protested that she should be the one to write it, she enlisted the aid of a certain "dkaz" personality who is, apparently, some sort of temporal Act of God.
Between the two of them, I should have realized I didn't have a hut in a hurricane's chance of squirming out of this one. They gang-swarmed me. After a little bit of haggling over the deadline (it made the loveliest "wooshing" sound as it sailed past) I agreed to write the article.
That will teach me to shoot my mouth off on a Mz Cyprah column.

The First Key Element: Looks

Before you start screaming "shallow sexist pig" at me, let's take a breath and admit to some facts of life. All of us, men and women, like to look at pleasant things. Pleasant things make us feel good. If I sit on a beach and admire the sunset, nobody calls me sexist or shallow. It's nature and it's natural. Is a woman any less a product of nature? Is it any less natural to admire a beautiful woman?
Okay, then. If I walk into a room with ten unknown women lined up against a wall, my eyes are going to beeline to the one who is most appealing to my particular taste, and each and every one of you would do the same. Any one who thinks they would do otherwise, please raise your hand.
All right. You folks with your hands up?

You're lying.

All right, so what is "attractive"? Damned if I know. That's dependent on individual taste. My taste is predominately eclectic. I don't know what's going to attract me until it does. I like a calm beauty. That will make me weak in the knees. I can't describe it any other way.
I like an easy smile. I have a preference for dark hair and dark eyes, but the last passion in my life was a green-eyed blond. I love to watch a woman who moves and speaks with confidence. Not conceit, not arrogance, but just calm and self-assured.
Individual features are less important than the over-all ambiance. It's the whole package. It' s that unknown quotient of mysterious components that attracts me. Calm beauty. If I could describe it any better I'd bottle it and become an eccentric millionaire.
Looks are an attraction. Like the old saying goes, "Looking at you doesn't help me to understand you. But still, I love looking at you. "
Isn't that nice?

The Second Key Element: Communication

This is the make or break element. No matter how much fun it is to look at her, if the communication fails to materialize, my idea of "fun" is going to be severely crippled.
I have one simple rule for communication.

"Say what you mean. Mean what you say."

If she comes home from work and kills the cat with the look in her eye and says, "I had a crappy day, leave me alone," well, why shouldn't I take her at her word? I'm not suicidal.
We, us neanderthals, "guys", we can be dense when it comes to anticipating your needs. We love that you're women, and so strikingly different from us, and soft and curvy and everything that that implies, but deep down we wish you could communicate like men do. Because no matter how hard we try, it's tough.
Communication is similar to making music. The notes are important, but so are the silences in between the notes. Some of us are lucky enough to have been with someone who understands us so well that communication can be eye contact, body language, or the right touch at the right time.
Conversely, some of us have known people who can talk a hole through your brain pan and never say a dang thing.
Sometimes communication can be "I don't want to talk about it right now." But if it's important, you'd better be prepared to talk about it later.
Whatever communication method works best, do it and do it often.

The Third Key Element: Patience and Acceptance.

I know, that's two. Tough. It's my article and I can do whatever I want.

When that ultimate partner finally comes along, we want that relationship to last forever. Forever is a long time. It will seem agonizingly long if you're the type who expects instant gratification.
It's neither desirable nor fun to learn everything you want to know about somebody in the first year. Or even the first five. the process of discovery should be patient, thorough and erotic. It could last the rest of your life. Enjoy it.
Wouldn't it be awesome if, after 50 years of marriage, your wife did something that just stunned you because it was so unexpected? Let's say, for instance, she was a staunch pacifist and then one day, in the middle of a disagreement, she suddenly picked up the alarm clock and chucked it at your head.

That would make me fall in love all over again.
Provided she missed, of course.

Patience is a journey, not a goal, and that journey is fueled by acceptance. Where I live, there's a woman I don't like very much, but she once said something very profound. She said, "Don't waste your time trying to change somebody. Go find some one who doesn't need changing." I like that.
Ultimately, what I will accept and what I will be patient about are my choices. She has the same choices. During that long delirious process of learning about someone, inevitably something will come up. Now I'll have to make a decision. She's beautiful. She's hysterically funny. She's smart. The sex is mind-boggling. But can I live for the rest of my life with someone who sounds like a flock of parrots when she laughs?
I'm exaggerating, but you see my point.
Patience. Acceptance.

The Fourth Key Element: Devotion.

What an odd word. There's something slightly corny about it. It's almost embarrassing to say it out loud. But it's a critical part of a strong relationship because it encompasses all those other powerful and essential relationship words. Truth. Trust. Honesty. Fidelity.
I like devotion in a relationship. It makes me feel omnipotent. It makes me feel on top of the world. It makes me happy. It makes you feel that way too. Don't lie. Why do you think people like puppies?
I like knowing there is one person who will back me up, share my joys and miseries, build me up in the eyes of others, tell me I'm full of crap when I'm wrong and make me feel like a god when I'm right.
I can say this without a trace of self consciousness or arrogance or ego. I'll tell you why.
Because she will receive the full and equal measure of devotion from me. Having confidence in mutual devotion will make a relationship immortal.

The Fifth Key Element: Humor

This should have been at the top of the list but, you know, save the best for last and all that.
Humor is the essence of what attracts me to a woman. Humor is subversive, subtle and erotic. I can't think of anything more intimate and connecting than humor.
Well, okay, sex. But humor runs a close second.
Humor manifests itself in a myriad of forms. A very smart man once said, "Some people will never understand why a pickle is funny and a carrot is not."
Exactly.
If you've ever been with a group of people when something was said or done and you and your partner were the only two laughing, that's a good omen. You share the same sense of humor. You'll probably be together forever.
Ain't love grand?

Okay, for what it's worth, that's it. The top five things that attract me to women.
I might add that if the last four become highly developed and real love blossoms, the first one becomes irrelevant.

I can see the hands going up. "Wait, wait", you're saying. '"You didn't mention making love."
Well, no. I didn't mention food, either. Sex, like food, is a given. It is assumed that there is plenty of the right kinds of both in a strong relationship. I know what turns me on. She knows what turns me on. I know what turns her on. if you think I'm going to share this most intimate part of my life with you loons, you're nuts. Grab your partner, go home, and figure it out for your selves.

Don't forget to laugh.

I've been around the block a couple of times. Gotten a little experience with the opposite sex. If a man were to ask me for some advice about women, particularly of the er...romantic nature I'd have some thoughts. I'd like to run it by the girls first. What if it's just me that feels this way?

The first thing that comes to mind is what I call the Butt Claw. Seems like every guy thinks this is hysterical. Doesn't matter if he's 18 or 80 ( I haven't had this experience at the higher end of the spectrum, I'm guessing here).
You're lowering yourself onto the couch, drink in hand, and just as your hindquarters reach the surface, BAM!, your true love has placed his hand/claw under your ass in order to grab and startle you. What a riot! He is beside himself. He laughs at cleverness. He thinks he has invented this, and that you will laugh too! Not.

Another. Standing at the sink doing the dishes. He walks up behind you and reaches around to tweak a nipple. Sexy. When this happens to me I want to throw him on the floor and ravish him right there. That's foreplay mister. Really. How about next time you're checking the oil, I come up behind you and tweak your nuts, and laugh uproariously. I bet you'll get a kick out of it too.

My all-time favorite though, bar none. The title of my book. My epitaph. "A Stiff Dick in My Back at 3:00 AM is NOT Foreplay". I am dead asleep and I wake up to a persistent nudging in my backside. That first few seconds, when you're not sure what woke you up. The realization. The eyeroll. The internal, 'he couldn't come up with anything better than this?" (Pun intended?) I don't have a problem with a little after midnight delight, an ambush is another thing.

After all these years, liberation and openness I thought that some of the guys would develop some technique and skill. Maybe I pick the wrong men.

My first bra shopping expedition was with my mom. Ah, a milestone for a twelve year old. From the beginning it was a humiliating experience. When mom announced the reason for the outing, dad said "Why the special trip? All you need is a box of Band-aids." Thanks dad.

We went to a small local department store. I made my way to the lingerie section and furtively perused the selection of flimsy 1970s A-cup bras with the requisite pink bow or yellow rose in the center. Why? I thought. NOBODY was ever going to see my bra. EVER.

After making my choices, I slunk to the dressing room to try them on. While struggling with the mechanics of putting on my first bra, a femalevoice came through the curtain, "Is everything all right in there?"

"Yes," I mumbled. Then the saleslady pulled back the curtain! Are you joking! I'm in a bra! With a pink bow! Already my illusions are shattered. Does this happen to everyone? I turned and covered myself. Now I would have to get the one with the yellow rose.

We purchased two bras that day. I could not look the saleslady in the eye. I knew there would be a photo of me in the next day's paper, 'Budding Pre-Teen Gets First Bra'. She and mom were actually talking about bras. Out loud. In public. Bras, bras, bras. My horror and shame knew no bounds.

It's been over thirty years and a lot has changed.

Those first bras were white. Period. At the time, for girls there were mainly white bras and bras that were white. Now there are more kinds of bras than rednecks at a NASCAR race. A smorgasbord. Myriad. Legions. Masses. Multitudes. A seemingly innumerable selection of fabric and wire breast supports.

And I can't find one that fits. Seriously.

I don't wear an A-cup anymore. Or B. I decided to search the internet for information on how to measure myself for the perfect bra fit.

After visiting several websites I discovered there was a general consensus regarding bra fit and measurement. Great! This was going to be a walk in the park! With bra-fitting wisdom in had, I got my trusty measuring tape out of the sewing box and retired to my bedroom, confident in the knowledge that in minutes I would emerge bearing the elusive combination of letters and numbers that would set my breasts free by properly confining them.

According to the instructions, the first step to finding your correct size is finding your band width. Begin by wearing your best fitting bra. Measure directly under your bust (gently but firmly),expelling air as you do so, you want the measurement to be as small as possible.

Now, if you are sagging in this bra (duh), tighten the straps until the crest of your breasts are approximately half-way between the elbows and shoulder. This is the proper alignment for most breasts (most breasts?), at the same time making sure the tape is level all the way around your body and parallel to the floor. This is critical.

Well, my breastage is so saggy that using the straps on my bra and lifting for proper alignment would be akin to using dental floss to hang a chandelier. My solution was to stand on my head. I nearly suffocated. Then I fell over, cracked my knee on the nightstand and knocked over a lamp. You had to be there. Or not. I decided to do it their way.

So, per instructions, when you take this measurement, round to the closest whole inch, either up or down. For example 29 3/8" would be 30", 30 5/8" would be 31", BUT because band sizes are in even numbers, you must add 4 inches if you have and even number and 5 inches if you have an odd number.

This is when you realized there is a real possibility that alge(bra) can be used in real life.

This process took approximately one hour and ten minutes. I took a nap.

Another method for finding your band sized is to measure around your body, straight across your back and chest, directly above the bust at underarm level. Again, expel air, and keep the tape measure parallel to the floor. Do your best! If this measurement is an odd number, add one inch and the result is your band size. Why didn't I do this in the first place?

This process took about 45 seconds. Had a drink. Or two.

Moving on to cup size. Picture this. Standing straight, with your arms at your sides, measure around your body at the fullest part of your bust. (While wearing the aforementioned crappy bra that doesn't fit). Again, with your bust apex being midway between your elbow and shoulder. How, you ask, do you measure your boobage while you have your arms at your sides? Duct tape. Take a strip of duct tape six to inch inches long and affix it to the center of your measuring tape, then attach it to your back at the bra closure. Level, of course. Bring each end of the measuring tape around to the front and place them in your mouth. With your elbows firmly at your sides, reach up with your hands, (in the manner of a seal) and grab an end of the tape with each hand. Do you follow? Measure across the bustine with the tape just touching, but not binding. Round the resulting measurement up or down to the nearest inch as you did to find the band size.

Now, after I ripped the duct tape off my back, I got my pencil and index card. Per my instructions, I subtracted the band sized measurement from the second measurement, this would give me my cup size. For example, 38" minus 34" would equal a D cup. What could be easier? A cup for every inch. Or is it an inch for every cup?

So, I discovered I am a 36DD not a 42Long. It took only one day, and ice pack, duct tape, a lampshade, three ibuprofen, and half a...well it took some vodka.

The next morning I woke up refreshed and excited, albeit with a slight limp. I prepared to journey to my favorite department store. I put my dingy ill-fitting bra on for the last time and hit the road. The index card with the magical code grasped tightly in my hand. I would soon acquire beautiful, lacy, smooth comfortable bras. I would emerge from the mall, giddy and triumphant!

I arrived at the store and hustled right to the lingerie department and made a beeline for the bras. The choices! I picked out four bras almost immediately. I found a sales person to let me into a dressing room. Normally I detest trying on clothes, particularly bras, not today! This was going to be a revelation!

The first one I tried on seemed a little tight at the apex. Aha, I said to myself, I forgot to bend over and do the ta-ta tango. This is where you lean over and sort of jiggle and settle the girls into the cups and then stand up and pull the straps over your shoulders. So I did. I look in the mirror and discover that I have muffin boob on the left side. Not good. Obviously this is a defective bra. It happens.

Bra number two made me looks as though I was wearing one of those bullet bras from the 50's. The pointy cone ones. I picture Ann-Margret in a tight sweater dancing in an Elvis movie. It looked good on HER. Back THEN. Madonna revived this look. It didn't look good on HER. EVER.

The third one squinched my chest in such a way that it looked like I had four breasts. While in theory the idea of four of them would be nirvana in the opinion of some men, it was decidedly not appealing to me. My eyes began to sting.

I didn't try the fourth one one.

I left the dressing room. Deflated. The sales person asked me if any of the bras worked for me.

"Not really", I said.

"I'm sorry. Would you like me to measure you? Perhaps you're not choosing the right size. You know, sometimes bra fit varies from brand to brand."

"Really? I was kind of hoping for a perfect fit." My knee started to throb. I handed her the bras and headed for the exit.

As I hobbled to the car, crumpling the index card with my carefully written measurements, I wondered if there was any vodka left.