Aunt Seraphic Defends Discretion

Hello, dear poppets! I have returned from my week's holiday in England, where I had no internet access. It was the longest time I had gone without internet access in over ten years. Instead of going crazy, I constantly wrote in my diary while people around me looked uneasy and asked if I were going to write a book about the trip. Ah ha ha ha!

Occasionally I thought about my last post and whether it had been totally responsible and whether anyone would be as mad as a snake that I didn't open the combox to cheers and rebuttals. However, there is always my email and I came back to many emails. If I haven't answered yours already, send it again. I deleted a lot of stuff--accidental bank drafts worth half a million pounds and all that sort of thing.

Someone wrote a very intelligent email about my parting remarks about not publicizing your sexual sins. To sum up, she suggested A) that you can use them to warn fellow women and B) that telling a suitor about some murky action or episode in your past was a good way of testing whether or not he is an angry, judgmental type. If he ditches you for your all-too-human sexual peccadilloes--"Begone, Scarlet Woman, fallen spawn of Satan!"--that just goes to show you're better off without him.

Well, maybe. I think there are safer and faster ways of determining if a man is an angry, judgmental type than telling him your deepest, darkest secrets. And also there are some very good people, very good and gentle people, who just cannot handle your deepest, darkest secrets and so it is best that you not burden them with them unless or until you absolutely have to, e.g. your dearest friend come weeping to you about something terrible she or he did that you have done, too. Oh, and to foil the machinations of blackmailers.    

This is a nasty world, and even (or especially) religious enemies will try to take you down via your sex life, real or imagined. I will not dignify (or endanger) him with a link, but one of our brothers in Christ, who condemned me as a feminist heretic in trad's clothing, salivated over my blog, looking for clues that Auntie S is not as pure as the driven snow. He published his excited suspicions on his soi-disant Catholic blog. I was pretty mad, but I would have been a lot madder had I not a husband and at least one brother who now wants to go to his house and thump him.

Here is my response to your fellow reader:

Dear Reader,

Your past is your past. You own it, and you can tell people about it or not as you choose. Many women, however, think they owe the world--or men they date--complete access to their past in a spirit of "keeping it real." So first of all, I am trying to encourage young women to keep what is theirs, theirs. 

Second, people do judge us on our past sins, even sincere Christians who know they shouldn't judge. (The world judges mercilessly.) We have no control over what people choose to do with the information we give them, or how they feel about us once they have it.  [So we really do have to be careful.]

Third, men are extremely visual, and many (most?) of them have a hair-trigger sexual imagination. They simply do not like to imagine their sweethearts with other men, but they almost can't help it, if they are told about it. This is too bad, and I hope they can get over this without at the same time losing their instinctual protectiveness for women they admire. I think "getting over it" most probable in a man who has discovered himself head-over-heels in love with a woman and couldn't care less what she has done in the past, as long as she loves him back. 

Fourth, this tendency of being disturbed by the idea of women-one-knows as sexual sinner is going to be most likely among religiously conservative men, especially if they grow up fearing and resenting sexual sin. Pro-lifer activists I have met have been like that,  probably because sexual sin leads so often to ab*rti*n. I have never forgotten an otherwise very sweet pro-life teenage colleague, who adored both his mother and his sister, saying to me, "There's a difference between a slut and a Sunday School teacher." 

Fifth, I firmly believe men take their cues about a woman from other men. Men who hear Sally-Sue say "Men use me and dump me" are most likely to conclude (if only subconsciously) "Sally-Sue is the kind of woman we use and dump." But men who hear Sally-Sue say "Men treat me like a princess; they're so nice to me!" are most likely to conclude, "Sally-Sue is the kind of woman we compete for." 

For all these reasons, I think it is dangerous for a Single woman--and possibly a married woman, too--to use episodes of sexual sin from her life as a teaching method. It strikes me that it would be much safer if she were to write a novel about it. My guess is that many a truth-embracing novel has inspired women not to make the same mistakes as the heroine. Heck, I have never touched cocaine because of a character who died the first time she tried it in the Sweet Valley High stories. 

There are safer ways to test whether or not a man is a judgmental son-of-a-gun. [Just listen to how he talks about others, particularly women.] And, of course, the longer you know a man, the more likely he is to see you as you and not as his image of you-- angel, feminist, devil, or whomever--so the longer  a woman can hold off sharing the darker spots of her past the better. 

And this might indeed take discipline because for whatever reason, many women seem to want to confess to the men they love, either to test the bounds of their unconditional love (which I am not sure men have for their wives, anyway--their mothers, yes), or to feel "forgiven." However, only God can give that kind of all-healing forgiveness; we cannot find it in men. 

I hope this is a helpful explanation of my "don't tell" policy!

Grace and peace,

Seraphic 

A Modest Proposal

Readers may have become weary of that Catholic blogosphere cliche: the concern over male modesty and the oversexualization of male fashion in the world today. However, I don't think it can be stressed enough how much of a temptation it is for women--how much of a pitfall--to see men  in attractive clothes or, indeed, skimpy outfits. Now that spring is upon us, it will not be long before the young men of the  world actually take their shirts off and run around soccer fields topless, as if there were no married women over thirty around to look at them.

I don't want to be too hard on the boys. After all, it is very difficult for a young man to understand the sexual temptations of women. When he wears sleeveless shirts, he just sees nice toned arms that any guy would be proud to have. He doesn't understand that nice toned male arms act like dynamite on the female psyche, especially female psyches that have been around for over 30 years. Also, when men deliberately buy jackets with shoulder padding, they merely think they look nice. They don't think about what the illusion of huge shoulders might do to generations of women who grew up reading romance novels about men with huge shoulders. 

At this point the male reader may feel uncomfortable, and in that charming way men have followed since Adam, our first father, pointed the finger at Eve and said "She done it," protest that maybe women should not read romance novels at all.  But, alas! The laddies must understand that in some ways they are the stronger sex, and women the weaker, and women have a weakness for romance novels, for which we must be forgiven and understood. It hasn't helped us that as children such magazines as Tiger Beat were on display at our eye level and even sold to us, so that we might pass them around the school yards, pull out the photos and put them on our bedroom walls. And now with the internet---! Men can't seriously expect us not to use the internet to look at pictures of attractive men, especially when they are thoughtlessly tempting us all over the shop, from Daytona Beach to Savile Row.

This scourge of male immodesty continues even into our churches. As shocking as this may sound, they wear their padded jackets even to go to church, so that the women behind them are forced to see that artificial inverted-triangle shape that acts like catnip on our feline sexuality. And those who wear pullovers instead sometimes take them off when they feel too warm, sometimes exposing inches of bare male back and tummy flesh for whole seconds. Can you believe that? Men taking their clothes off in church? And I can't even write about the souls that are imperiled by men coming to church wearing cargo shorts, their hairy, muscled calves for all Catholic women, young, old, married, single, and consecrated, to see, for my tears would drip into my laptop and cause a short-circuit.

Again I realize my male readers will feel indignant and want to say something about custody of the eyes. After all they have eyes, too, and they manage to keep them off our bodies, so why can't we keep our eyes off theirs? Ah, boys. Boys, boys, boys. My little flowers. My little flowers of the forest. My little flowers of the forest in your kilts and woolly socks stretched over swelling calves that meet muscular knees and visible over those manly knees is perhaps an inch of bare, muscled...Where was I?

Oh yes. Custody of the eyes. It is all very well talking about custody of the eyes, but we are your sisters. We need your help. We need you to stop wearing what you like, or what is fashionable, or what looks nice, or what is available in stores. After all, what is taste, fashion, beauty and availability to our own, personal, ever-shifting comfort zones? 

So I have a proposal, a modest proposal.

The orange jumpsuit. 

Men may protest that the orange jumpsuit, being prison garb, is a garment of shame. However, when we get right down to it, shouldn't men feel shame at the lustful thoughts their thoughtless attire and even lack thereof has caused women, even before we turned on the TV or the computer or bought the romance novel or the dirty Tiger Beat magazine? If  you men were to see the inside of my mind in an unguarded moment, you would most definitely feel shame. 

Meanwhile, neon orange is a terrible colour that suits nobody, and whose primary purpose is to make the wearer visible. Since men by their clothes (or lack thereof) seem to have an at least unconscious desire to have women notice them, their orange jumpsuits will indeed continue to make women notice them, only with the salutary reminder of how dangerous men can be to our souls and how, because of them, we might end up in that cosmic state penitentiary that has no end.

And therefore, men of the world, our brothers, whom we wish to love chastely and sweetly, in a spirit of self-gift, self-loan and self-donation, I beg you all to leave aside your sinful fashions (and running about fields half mostly naked), and don the noble (if shameful) orange jumpsuit.

Amen.

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Pre-order Seraphic's equally controversial Ceremony of Innocence from Ignatius Press today!

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Auntie Seraphic & the Desperate Friend

Dear Auntie Seraphic,

I read your post about not liking your friend's man the day after I had been told that friends don't want friend's advice, they just want us to listen and support them, and if I want to keep my friends, I'm not allowed to tell them when they are doing something wrong, or try to "fix" them.

I have dated a horrible man, and my friends were just so happy I was finally dating SOMEONE that they didn't want to tell me that his constant insults towards me were not acceptable, even if I excused them because he was not American, and "it's just his culture". After I finally broke up with him, they told me how much they loathed him, and oh how I wished someone had told me earlier!

I have many girlfriends with wonderful men in their lives, and I make sure to tell them this. I also have many with horrible men in their lives... but I don't know how to help them.
[...]
I have one very dear friend that I have had since high school, whose life is spiraled out of control, who doesn't even realize it. Our friendship was almost ruined when she confessed her destructive behavior to me, and instead of saying, "That's alright, you can do what you want", I told her she should stop. So I have learned to listen and let her talk because if I say something negative about anything she tells me (like the way boys treat her) she has a ready defense.

Yesterday she told me she had a pregnancy scare and was considering abortion though... and then casually told me about the latest boy to spend the night in her bed. No matter how I tried to change the subject, she would continue to leak the graphic details to me. I have heard this story from her dozens of times over the past year: Meet guy online, text him, tell him they can't have s*x, but can do anything else, have a make out session with him = guy never calls again. She says wants a nice husband who will go to church with her and raise children, and that is why she has to keep on trying.

Every month her stories get more graphic though, as everything the boys ask from her become less shocking and more tempting as she gets more experience. Now she is letting them pressure her into having s*x, because they say they won't commit to her unless she does. My heart breaks for her. I pray for her constantly. I want to be supportive, but it has gotten to the point where listening to her hurts my own sexual purity struggle.

Other friends in our circle have told me there is nothing more to do: I have to let her hit rock bottom and ask for help; trying to fix her won't work, and will just make her resent me. I miss my sweet, generous and funny friend, who used to have a life that didn't revolve around dating endless streams of abusive men. Is there nothing left that I can do, or say to help her?

Sincerely,
Desperate Friend

Dear Desperate Friend,

I am very sorry that you are in this situation. And I am afraid I must agree with the other friends who tell you that there is nothing you can do but walk away and let her hit bottom. She seems hooked on Drama.

If she really cannot change the subject and constantly needs to fill your ears with the graphic details of her s*x life, whether or not you have the courage to tell her flat out to stop, you need some distance. The very fact that your own purity struggle is becoming more difficult because of these stories is a clear warning to you. Your friend is becoming an occasion of sin for you.

From your description, her behaviour has been foolish from first to last. She seems to believe that physical signs of affection are bargaining chips in a game to win a lasting love relationship. This is a truly messed up vision of what relationships between men and women are and should be. (For a thinking adult's take on the whole "How Far Can We Go?" question, I recommend How Far Can We Go? by Leah Perrault and Brett Salkeld.)

Unless she wants help, you can't help your friend. And if you get too caught up in her craziness, you are in danger of becoming what is known as a co-dependent. (For a great book on co-dependency, please read Melodie Beattie's Co-dependent No More.) I very much recommend you get some distance. If you are hooked on her drama, get unhooked. Now.

Pray for her, by all means, but minimize how much time you spend with her, and set a clear boundary that if she persists in talking about subjects that make you uncomfortable, you will not spend any time with her. And perhaps losing you will help her "hit bottom" and smarten up. The most important thing, however, is that you protect your heart from her insanity.

Grace and peace,
Seraphic

Readers: It appalls me that young women, young women who are not prostitutes, are willing to negotiate sexual activity with strangers or near-strangers over the internet. It is so shockingly stupid to tell men that you "can't have sex but can do anything else" that I am almost speechless. Anything else? ANYTHING else?

How did we get to the point where ordinary young women talk like prostitutes? (And I am not dissing poor prostitutes, who are trying to make a living. They turn tricks for cash, not for the much less certain promise of a "relationship".) For heaven's sake, there is such a thing as modesty of speech. If a young woman thinks that a near-stranger would have an iota of respect for her after she said "I can't have sex but I can do anything else", then she simply knows nothing about men.

Update: Reader age poll as of today (see top right). Please take a moment and tell me how old you are.

Retire the Jumper

One day I will give up this blog secure in the knowledge that there are a lot of other dames writing about the Single life. Currently the Crescat is Single, and she had this to say about the Church as matchmaker. It is partly a response to the incomparable Simcha Fischer, mother of nine, who recently asked Single readers what it is that you want the Church to do for you.

But what really got my interest was the first comment on Kat's post, which was from a Single woman noting that more men seem to go to Traditional Latin Masses but that she did not want to wear a jumper. I'm assuming this woman is Canadian or American because in the UK a jumper is not a utilitarian frock but a sweater/pullover. And at the risk of being one of those Catholic bloggers who fixates on women's clothing, I'm going to fixate on women's clothing. (As a stunning innovation, I'll mention men's, too.)

Now, I have nothing against jumpers, per se. I had a very nice charcoal grey jumper (utilitarian frock) when I was four years old. There is a time and place for jumpers, like your elementary school photographs. For girls under twelve, I recommend the trusty old jumper, perhaps with a fetching ladybug pin.

I do not recommend the jumper for girls and women over twelve, and I am staggered that anyone would mention the TLM and jumper in the same breath. I suppose girls and women don these things as a sort of modesty uniform, a sartorial placard reading "I am a chaste and modest woman who would not have shoddy, unthinkable affairs with local tradesmen while you are at work." But I assure you that such modesty uniforms are completely unnecessary. Modesty is a good and noble thing, but it is all the sweeter when it is subtle. The virgin who reminds people constantly that she is a virgin is not as modest as the virgin who keep her mouth shut on such a personal subject.

And as a husband-attracting device, modesty is highly over-rated and always has been. Back in Jane Austen's day, elegantly dressed young ladies made their Empire-waist frocks stick to their bodies by spraying them with water. Desperate matchmaking mothers prompted their scandalized daughters to smile more, to flirt more, to give more encouragement, for heaven's sake, Laetitia. Modesty should of course be on the list of your womanly attributes, but it is down around #5. It is not #1, except in places like rural Afghanistan.

Now I go to a TLM myself, and being a reasonably observant woman, I note who else is there and what they are wearing, and who looks good, and who needs to have a little talk with me. And one thing I can tell you about my TLM community is that there are a lot of men in it. A goodish percentage of these men are bachelors under 40, and with the exception of the rebel in the rugby shirt, these young bachelors are sartorial romantics. They are dressed according to their personal, and yet shared, vision of what men dressed like in 1948.

They wear jackets, naturally. These jackets are usually tweed and very often bought secondhand, either from the internet or from a vintage shop. Occasionally a sharp piece of non-tweed tailoring--either made-to-measure or pret-a-porter--makes an appearance. Then there are the woolly pullovers (aka UK jumpers), for Britain is cold and there wasn't much by way of central heating in 1948. Less attention is paid to trousers, but they tend to be corduroy and sometimes bright red. (N.B. Bright red corduroy trousers are best left to broad-shouldered men, mes vieux.)

There are, of course, ties--including school ties, even if that school was a comprehensive, and university ties. Sometimes there are a bow-ties and a keen flutter of interest amongst the bow-tie fans when an new initiate takes the plunge. Then there are the socks and the shoes, the pocket squares and the handkerchiefs, and, I am told (for of course I never see these things), the braces, the sleeve bands and the sock garters.

And this all makes complete sense. If a man wants back all the beauty, romance and fittingness of the Mass before 1963, he might very well want back all the beauty, romance and fittingness of men's fashion before 1963. And if he is that interested in men's fashion before 1963, imagine how he thinks women should dress. The Well Dressed Woman of 1948 was not wearing what Americans call a jumper, people. You should not be thinking Laura Ingalls Wilder; you should be thinking Veronica Lake.

Now I know somebody is itching to write in and tell me that women don't dress for men, we dress for ourselves, and blah blah blah blah. This has to be complete garbage because I cannot think why any woman would wear a stupid "jumper" unless she were worried about her audience. I certainly dress for an audience, and it is for the sake of politeness as much as for anything else, like not wearing jeans to a Goth bar because it would ruin the ambiance for the Goths. And as too often I am the only woman at TLM soirees, I owe it to everybody to look as well as possible.

Besides, there is the singular thrill of giving men whiplash. You gorgeous young things are probably too, too used to this sort of thing, but it was a revelation for your belle-laide Auntie when she wore a dashing new hat and (she was told) every Young Fogey in the congregation craned his head to get a better look. Elderly widowers danced attendance; it was a very pleasant morning.

And that thought brings me back to the question of what the Church can do for Singles. As feminists say, when they are not calling the Church a "male monolith", WE are the Church--which is to say, helpful older married ladies like me. And I am telling you not to wear dumb, shapeless, what-Americans-call-jumpers to Mass, particularly not the TLM Mass. I am telling you to have a look at the best sartorial zeitgeist of your parish and then look wonderful.

You're welcome.

One Guy's Eye View

I know, I know. Another piece on modesty. I don't know why I'm being so apologetic, though. I think modesty is very cool, and I look forward to the day the women of the western world decide that "body-skimming" beats "body-hugging" every day of the week. Slender girls will look willowy rather than skeletal, and plump girls will look soft and cuddly rather than porcine. Beautiful pumps will be worn with ankle-skimming skirts and snazzy flats will be paired with mid-knee length dresses. Beauty will return to our streets, buses and trains, and men will sob with joy into the flowers and chocolates they bestow on us for being just so gosh-darned pretty.

Incidentally, the church organist made sharp remarks about the outfit I wore to church on Sunday. I was wearing a mantilla, a roomy white blouse, a tight white T-shirt under the big white blouse, a pink below-knee length skirt, nylon stockings, moderately high heels and a shawl. However, despite all this fabric, the organist could still see the back of my neck and apparently part of my upper back. The naked expanse of flesh, he made known to me, was at ironic variance with with my black mantilla. This goes to show that you can't be too careful and that I might have had a chance with the church organist had I not so immediately married B.A.

The amusing thing about the post to which I have linked is that it touches upon power. There is a certain kind of theologian who is obsessed with power. This is why I am wary of anyone who cites the "hermeneutic of suspicion". The "hermeneutic of suspicion" is all about who has the power and who doesn't have the power and how can my group have some power? Power, power, power!

Anyway, the poster posits the power of femininity against the power of semi-naked sexuality. He doesn't mention how the power of femininity can be terribly, terribly abusive. There's a marvellous young lady back home who apparently told her husband that if he had the chance to become a jihadi and he didn't take it, she would divorce him. Okay, you just know this chick dresses modestly.

For about three thousand years or so, women have been given the impression that they have a sell-by date, and after that sad day, no man will ever pay them attention again. This is, actually, totally untrue. I have been dumped TWICE by men in their twenties for women over 30. ("I forget how really young you are," was the second one's valedictory remark. I was twenty-freaking-nine.) And I have had no problem talking with men in their 20s since I turned 30.

And why is this, eh? It is because youth isn't everything. People want what they don't have, and young men already have youth. They look up to older women who have other stuff. Sometimes the other stuff is a kind of quiet, even scornful, confidence Mr. Twenty-something can only dream of having one day. Sometimes it is success in a career he'd like to be successful in. Sometimes it's just being a PhD student, and don't laugh. Seriously, when I studied in Germany, I talked daily to young German men who wanted to talk to me because I was (A) Foreign and (B) a Ph.D. student. They also wanted to be Foreign. They also wanted to be PhD students.

Where AM I going with this? Oh yes---power. The power of a tight shirt is amazingly stupid and banal. There are so many other kinds of power, if power is your thing, and you get more of it the older, smarter and more confident you get. Really, power shouldn't be your thing, but you probably have some, so use it well.

UPDATE ON PANTS/TROUSERS: Berenike has reminded me that the Queen of the Pants Controversy is Simcha Fisher. Grr! Grr! I am so envious of Simcha Fisher, I may quit blogging. 300 comments! I ask you!

Okay, I did not know anti-trouser hysteria had reached such heights in the USA. As far as I know, we don't have it in the UK. Various women in my parish trundle innocently around Edinburgh in trousers and can even pray in trousers without being accosted by pop-eyed strangers who were distracted by their bottoms.

Personally, I don't like wearing trousers because trousers remind me that I am no longer the 117 pound amateur boxer who could wear a Club Monaco Size 2. Trousers make me feel chunky and blah. If, however, like Simcha I had three kids, I bet I'd just swallow my pride and get the darned things. There are perfectly nice trousers in perfectly respectable fabrics like wool.

Incidentally, does anyone know how to ride a bicycle while wearing a skirt these days? If I get a bicycle, I might have to grit my teeth and put on some jeans.

Men who tell women-in-general not to wear trousers (or "pants") are creepy. The one exception to this rule is the cranky pastor who tacks up the "Women Must Not Wear Pants In Church" sign that makes UK Trids giggle so much. It's his church, so if the men who go to his church have a real problem with staring at women's behinds instead of concentrating on Holy Mass, Father Cranky must know.

And, hey, at least Father Cranky isn't making the women pray at the back.

Modesty, Femininity, Clothes, Blah Blah

Today I was in the Human Life International office in Rome, and it is lined with books in both Italian and English. There are bookcases all along the walls, and they are seven book-storeys high. They cover dogmatic theology, moral theology and life issues. Father Cessario stands, in book form, next to Charlie Curran, which I cannot really imagine happening in real, non-book, life.

So which book, out of all these riches, did I choose to read while drinking my tea, eh?

It was the one on modest dressing.

What is with us Catholics and modest dressing? If Father Z introduces the topic on his blog, the combox goes wild. Safe in anonymity, the boys hasten to tell the girls what to wear, and the girls get creeped out, even if they already dress the way the boys suggest. And very rarely do the girls tell the boys how they should dress, which is, of course, like George Peppard in Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Ah, George Peppard. Blonde men were born to wear sharp grey suit jackets, they really were. Paul Varjak (aka "Fred Baby") could also rock a cardigan, white shirt and straight tie combo. Really, if men cry over the tight and vulgar trampy outfits women wear today, what about OUR womanly feelings before the male slobs who people the streets? Not even Doc Golightly wore a baseball cap downtown. UGH!

Anyway, I think most of us are fascinated with clothes because clothes are in themselves fascinating. Whatever "Slutwalkers" might say, clothes send messages about their wearers, and always always have. I have among my belongings (in Edinburgh) an incredibly feminist and Marxist book written in the early 1990s, and it is called The Language of Clothes. It's written in angry jargon, but it agrees that clothes send coded messages. And it mentions that marvellous book that came out in the 1980s that, after a heck of a lot of scientific research, concluded that the best outfit for professional women was a grey suit with a knee-length skirt and sensible shoes, i.e. a female version of what successful men wear to the office. But OH NO (continues this feminist book), this was IGNORED. Instead of encouraging women to wear clothes that said "I'm a serious professional", the fashion industry encouraged women to wear to the office clothes that said "I put my sex life before absolutely everything."

The modest clothing book I read today was dotted with exclamation points and rhetorical questions like, "Have you seen what's on TV these days?" I could spend a delightful hour making fun of it, but I won't. No doubt young women need encouragement to wear pretty, feminine and modest clothes, so as not to be swept along miserably with "what everyone else is doing." And I did enjoy its quotations from various popes. The early 20th century popes had no problem dissing women's fashions, even in 1910. Sadly, the authoress does not explain exactly what was wrong with women's dress in 1910. However, she does mention that subsequent popes did not like women's trousers.

(The authoress wrote "pants", but you should all know that at least 70 million English speakers use this word only for underpants. Never ever ever refer to your pants in England, Scotland, Ireland or Wales. The fact that some American churches bear signs reading "Women must not wear pants in church" throws British Catholics into hysterics.)

Padre Pio apparently really, really hated women's trousers. According to one story, he refused absolution to an Italian-Canadian woman on the grounds that she sold women's trousers in her clothing store. She could have absolution only if she got rid of them and then came back, and if she just went to an easier priest for absolution instead, Padre Pio WOULD KNOW. So the Italian-Canadian woman went home and got rid of the garments so hated by Padre Pio. This, by the way, was in 1963. Imagine what Padre Pio would make of your leggings, you minx!

Padre Pio didn't want you in the confessional unless you were wearing a skirt, and that skirt had to fall at least 8 inches below your knee. This worried me because I am short, so when I got back to Hilary's, I got her measuring tape to see how long that was. Happily, that is still above my ankles. It was also above where the green linen skirt I am wearing today falls, so I could have sailed right into Padre Pio's confessional. (But it is alarming to think what he might have said to ME!)

It is worth noting that, despite his abject hatred of short skirts and trousers, that Padre Pio is one of Italy's most beloved saints. There's a church a half mile away from where I sit that is incredibly ugly and with the ugliest furnishings except for the statue of Padre Pio, which is itself very nice. The elderly ladies with whom I went to Mass yesterday at the chapel just around the corner from Hilary would not have gotten into P. Pio's confessional, however, as mostly they wore thin dresses that fell above their knees.

(It was the Novus Ordo, I hasten to add, not because I think the Novus Ordo encourages short skirts, but because I don't want anyone to think the Trids of Lazio trundle off to Mass in short skirts. They don't. The females ones wear lovely dresses or flowing skirts, and sometimes mantillas or smart hats.)

The authoress blames Coco Chanel for the downward spiral in women's clothing, and to give the authoress credit she doesn't mention that darling Coco slept with a Nazi, too. Special mention is made of the bikini which, it might surprise you to know, Annette Funicello never wore in any of those beach movies. She sometimes wore two-pieces, but it was actually in her contract that she would never be made to wear a bikini.

Do you know, once when I was teetering on the edge of a serious exercise addiction and weighed only 117 pounds, I tried on a bikini in a store called Bikini Village. But I didn't buy it. I just could not imagine appearing in public like that. I just couldn't. Wearing full vampire makeup on the subway, sure. Bikini, never.

My scariest purchase recently was an ankle-length denim skirt. It was scary because TLM-loving Catholic women are getting a reputation in Catholic circles for dowdiness, and particular mention is made by critics of ankle-length denim skirts. However, like denim jeans, denim skirts do go with almost anything and they wear well. They're tough and strong and can be dressed up or dressed down as you like. You can even wear them to pubs to watch football matches.

Frankly, I'm not interested in wearing trousers or jeans any more. I just like skirts and dresses better.

Well, sound off in the combox. Why are so many of us so fascinated with women's clothing?

Taking Liberties

Attn to sensitive: subject of sexual assault mentioned in this post.

The way to cultivate happiness about the outside world is to assume that most men are good men. As a matter of fact, men are more likely to be nice to women than they are to other men, which is the exact opposite of the men-are-out-to-get-us assumptions of late-20th century feminism.

Ginger wondering why men are nicer to her than women are at the ice-cream parlour where she works and over the phone at the lawyer's office where she also works reminded me of this. Men are nicer to Ginger, I posit, because she is a young woman, and most men are (1) programmed to be pleasant to young women and (2) don't feel in competition with them. Women (1) aren't and (2) very often do.

So that is my basic starting point. Most men are good men.

Saying most men are good implies that at least one man is bad and, poppets, there's more than one bad man out there 'cause I've dated two very bad men, and I've had some emails about even worse ones. And men can't take me to task for observing this, for it is men who feel the hand of fear grip their hearts when they realize their baby daughters aren't babies any more.

Once upon a time, gently brought up young girls weren't allowed to go anywhere by themselves. Unless they were out with their parents or brothers, they went out with their governess or their maid. This was not for their oppression but for their protection. Nowadays, many people assume that the law and fear of prison is enough to protect young girls, and that they can go anywhere and do anything without risk of seduction or rape. This is, of course, ridiculous, although the laws now make the lives of chambermaids considerably easier.

Rape is, of course, punishable (if the victim can bear to report it and have her attacker brought to trial). Seduction usually isn't (in this life). But the line between rape and seduction is sometimes blurry. If you ask me, sexual consent is a spectrum with a very fuzzy middle area. And as horrible as rape is, I hear being sweet-talked, used and then thrown out like a tissue isn't so great either.

Oh dear. What a downer. Let's move on. Let's talk about Facebook.

People often ask to be my Facebook friend. But I very, VERY rarely become the Facebook friend of someone I have never met. I'm so out there when I write, writing both for Catholic Toronto for money and the Catholics and/or Singles of the World for free, that I protect my privacy on Facebook. I also protect my physical space. I won't go so far as to say that I never talk to strangers, but I certainly never put my private life in the hands of strangers. This is particularly true of male strangers. Unless we've been introduced, I usually don't want to talk to a male stranger. (The local customs of blethery Scotland mean, of course, that I end up talking to older male strangers at bus stops, but I'm married now, and that makes a HUGE difference.)

So the first way I protect myself, as a woman, is to reject Facebook invitations from strangers, particularly strange men. Oh, and I'd rather slam the lid of my laptop computer on my hand than try to Facebook befriend a man I barely know.

The second way I protect myself is to reject dodgy blog comments. My dear ladies, for you are mostly ladies, you would not believe some of the comments I reject, for I try to reject them before you can see them. The worst ones come from men, including Catholic men who think they are righteous before God. Some men think they can come swaggering in here telling me what's what, but they are wrong. There are only four men I have to listen to: my husband, my father, my priest and my editor. All other men can take their scoldings and their "how dare you's" and jump in a lake. I don't permit such liberties.

I treat dodgy comments the way we are to treat obscene phone calls. I say nothing and merely end the call. I hit the reject button. Robbed of seeing their words in print, the men go away. Ta-dah!

The third way I protect myself is with my invisible cloak of reserve. I'm not sure when or where I got it, but it means I am very rarely approached by men. I think I radiate a sort of "If you mess with me, I will rip off your face" signal. It helps to have a keen, smug self-regard, good posture, sense of style and the ability to be nasty to nasty people. Too many girls are trapped by the belief that if they are nice and gentle to everyone, no matter how wicked, they will be okay. No. Not true.

The fourth way I protect myself is not letting male strangers or acquaintances in my living space. This is slightly anachronistic because now I am married, and it is also slightly impossible because I live in a Historical House of National Importance and occasionally curators, workmen, bat conservationists et alia come up the stairs unannounced. Once I was in a bath towel; I was most annoyed, but the definition of a lady is a woman who can make a visitor feel at ease even when she has been surprised in the bath, so I had a crack at it before giving my husband hell for not warning me in advance.

Male friends almost never call when my husband is away, but that's a propriety thing. I am not worried about my male friends, who are all my husband's friends also.

I once went just about out of my mind when a female visitor to my Boston flat, a visitor with persistent bad judgement about men, invited a local man into it. She had met him on some distant holiday some month before, and I had never met him. I came home to find this man coming out of my bedroom.

"Excuse me," I demanded with (I hope) tones of ice. "What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"X said I could go in there," quoth he.

X was in the kitchen. She went on to invite her friend for dinner with us.

I took X outside for a Word, the principal theme being "Never invite men into my space." And I did not give a tinker's damn what her dodgy-looking friend thought about it.

The fifth way I protect myself is to be very careful about female friends who hang out with dodgy men. I don't shelve my self-protection for their sakes. There are women who come down with dodgy men the way other women come down with colds. It's very sad, but I have never been able to figure out how to solve that problem. I do like or love the female friends, but I can't stand some of their men friends. The way to deal, of course, is to treat the men friends warily and then to protest at their first sign of badness or weirdness, whether it is making obscene jokes or appearing before me in their underpants or a dress.* Having bus or taxi fare on hand is essential at such moments. Frankly, the best protest I can think of is a timely cry of "TAXI!"

By the way, I should also mention that some nice men have some very not nice male friends, men who act like great guys around other men, but when alone with a woman, the mask comes off. Keep an eye out for those guys, and if one behaves inappropriately towards you, get the heck out of Dodge, and call up your mutual friend to tell him he shouldn't be introducing a guy like that to his female friends. If he's a good guy, he'll be mortified and apologetic, for being a good guy, he doesn't want to be thought of as a bad guy by association.

Finally, and I think most importantly, I am not afraid of hurting strange men's feelings. As a tiny woman, I always but ALWAYS trump them in the victim sweepstakes, so they can't hold anything--race, class, age, mental health--over me. I care about what my family, friends and readers think of my soul, but that's it. All the general public deserves is a view of a tastefully dressed, recently washed woman who doesn't screech, hoot or reel drunkenly before it or make long, boring calls on her mobile phone. If someone thinks I am racist, classist or homophobic because I get off an elevator early, that's his/her problem, not mine.

The Jesuit philosopher Bernard Lonergan taught that knowledge is a three-step process encompassing Experience, Understanding and JUDGEMENT. Being judgemental, therefore, is a GOOD THING, as long as you are using your reason. NOT being judgemental is insane and even suicidal. You use your judgement before you cross the road, so why not use your judgement when deciding whether or not a man is worth a single second of your time?

When I flip through my mental rolodex of the men with whom I enjoy spending time, I note that all of the non-priest ones--including B.A.--were friends of friends before I met them. I have made many female friends who were strangers to all--in fact, I pride myself on being welcoming to female strangers--but this is not true of the men to whom I now care to speak.

(By the way, not all priests are good men. Almost all of my seminarian/priest classmates were great guys, but not all priests are. Watch out, especially when abroad or among ones foreign to your country, since they may have weird ideas about women who look like you. If, in a non-pastoral situation and apropos of nothing, a priest tells you celibacy is really difficult, say good-bye. "Celibacy is really difficult" is the bad priest's mating call.)

*True story. Same guy. When I suggested to my hostess that he put something on over his underpants, he came back quite unselfconsciously wearing a lady's dress.

Decadent European Locker Rooms! Eek!

Poppets, today I had a Most Uncomfortable Experience.

As it has been some five years since I have been in a proper gym, I met my husband B.A. at the local swimming baths (as they are called here), which has a gym and where he likes to bathe (which means swim) and sit in the Turkish baths for hours reading Private Eye and the London Review of Books. After he flashed his membership card and payed the fee for non-member me, he led me through a door to a damp corridor with a plastic-sock dispenser. The plastic socks were to go over one's shoes before going into the wet, smelly locker room.

"But this is the men's change room," I said, sticking to him like a rash.

"This is THE change room," he said. "The lockers are here and you change in the cubicles over there."

I looked over there. There were a number of cubicles, all with beige canvas curtains. There was a young "female attendant" mopping the nasty wet floor, and I could hear the sound of men's voices.

"Eeek!" I said.

I believe Wendy Shalit started her Modesty Revolution because of co-ed locker rooms and washrooms at her American college, but it never occured to me you could find such things in staid Scotland. Germany, sure. One expects nudity and pornographic ads for dishsoap and outrages of all kind in Germany. But not in Scotland.

Wet boys padded in, clad only in bathing trunks. One brushed past me as he made for his locker. I clutched my bundle of gym clothes and raced for a cubicle. I was greatly relieved when B.A.'s voice sounded in the cubicle beside me, but then a whole herd of men, BIG LOUD MEN, BIG LOUD MEN WEARING ALMOST NOTHING came tromping past my canvas curtain, their big feet slapping against the evil-smelling floor.

"Eeek!" I thought and from some domestic, wifely impulse, stuck one of my feet under the side of my cubicle into B.A.'s cubicle. At least one foot was safe.

I felt like Isabelle Archer, the heroine of Portrait of a Lady, and if you have read it, then you know how she feels about decadent Europe, and how awful it is when it springs its decadent surprises, like co-ed locker rooms at the indoor swimming pool, upon you.

Anyway, I pulled on my gym clothes as fast as I could, threw my street clothes in my locker and scuttled out of the locker room like a lobster on speed. The weight room, which featured men, but men decently covered up, was a welcome relief.

It turns out that the baths has a special woman-only locker room, what you and I would call "the women's locker room", upstairs so I will be using that from now on, thank you all the same.

When time came for me to change my clothes again, there were no men around, just boys, and I now realize why locker room talk is called "locker room talk", although as their voices hadn't changed yet, theirs was mostly "F--you, ye dirty manky bastirt!"

Anyway, be warned. Some of you may marry Europeans or people from other weird places, and so be on your guard against being led into both-gender locker rooms, because unless you were brought up with them, it will not feel like a both-gender locker room but THE MEN'S LOCKER ROOM. If you are a sports reporter, you'll probably feel okay. But if not--eek!

More on Modesty

Ashley of the Love and Fidelity Network sent me this link to the Wall Street Journal. In the article a Jewish mother wonders why women today allow their daughters to dress "like prostitutes."

As a matter of fact, I am not up on what prostitutes are wearing these days. I know a young priest in Germany who worked in parish right near Hamburg's Reeperbahn a few years ago, and he said that the prostitutes all wore white--white bomber jackets, white shirts, white stockings, white skirts, white leggings, white spike heels--and they all used the same perfume. He could not tell me what this perfume was called, but he said when he could smell it, he knew the woman beside him was a Reeperbahn prostitute.

It is probably more accurate to say that today's daughters dress provocatively. Of course, they might not know that. They might not have the foggiest idea how their outfits look to the men around them. One of the trashiest looks I know is the Catholic Schoolgirl Look. This consists of a tiny uniform kilt on long legs covered only in the thinnest nude hose or, more modestly, coloured tights, with an untucked white blouse.

This, incidentally, was a fashion affected by year after year after year of girls in my high school, including yours truly. I didn't realize how shocking it was until I went to my baby sister's Graduation Mass and was horrified by the handkerchief-sized kilts. In the 80s, the mini was in. In the 00s, not so much, and yet there was the teeny-tiny kilt.

Teenage girls lack the imaginative power to put themselves into the shoes of grown-up men. Because as far as they are concerned ugly old men are invisible, they seem to think that they are invisible to the ugly old men. They want to be seen by teenage boys, and hence the bright, short, provocative outfits.

I'm not sure this has anything to do with carnality, as the author of the piece seems to think. I think the outfits cry out, "Notice me! Love me! Tell me I'm beautiful! Tell me I'm normal!"

God only knows why teenage girls feel a crying need to be noticed, loved and found beautiful and normal by teenage boys, but it may have something to do with the fact that human beings used to marry at that age. Our inner alarm clock does not jive with the outer realities of civilization.

Or it could stem from a life of watching television, reading magazines, seeing movies and goodness knows what other activities that tell us that the admiration of teenage boys is all that and a bag of chips. But even the carefully homeschooled feel a need to be assured that they are normal, beautiful and all that, so maybe it's not just the wicked world.

At any rate, the immodesty of dress of women is a perennial theme. In Jane Austen's day, fast women soaked their thin dresses so that they would stick to their figures all the more provocatively. In the 1920s, women began "to paint" in earnest, and this became so respectable that heavy makeup is part of the Evangelical Woman uniform. In the 1960s, my mother wore miniskirts, and there are pictures of Princess Anne in the early 1970s wearing the highest hemlines I've seen. In the 1980s, the miniskirt came back and Madonna-the-rock-star brought underwear-as-outerwear into fashion. And the cry goes up again and again "Why do we dress our daughters like prostitutes?"

To tell you the truth, I find this vaguely annoying. (The original bit of the WSJ article is the admission that maybe sex before marriage is a bad thing.) Teenage girls have enough problems without older women wailing constantly about how slutty they look. And it's not just a way to sneer at the younger generation. It's also a way to sneer at majority society. In the 80s, daughters of Italian immigrants in my town were told not to dress "like Canadian girls, like putanas." Hey, thanks for nothing.

But clothes do indeed send a message, and they do occasionally attract the attention of manipulative adults, which is something parents should tell their children, sons as well as daughters. I eagerly await a WSJ piece bewailing sons who dress like crack dealers or gay prostitutes.

We should encourage young people to wear clothes that say something other than "Love me" and "I hate Western society." How about "I'd like to be a respectable mother of three one day" and "I'm employable"?

Here is my How to Look Like a Nice Catholic girl again, since it is popular and nothing seems to attract comments on Catholic blogs like "What should women wear?"

Meanwhile I'd avoid wearing all white outfits with white bomber jackets and strong perfume.

Update: Girls, feel free to write at length in the com box about what men should wear.

Good and Bad Gossip

I love news. Sometimes I call a friend back home and demand, "What's the news?" One particularly juicy bit of news was that a good friend won a major academic prize.

"She didn't know she was going to get it. Everyone thought X was going to get it, but she got it. They only told her at the last minute."

This is, of course, hard cheese on X, but lovely for my good friend, so I rejoiced in this lovely bit of news.

Sometimes the news from home is less joyful and spectacular and rather more spicy, as in the perennial "A did B, and C is pretty mad about it."

"A did B, huh?"

"Yup."

"Oh, that naughty A. Well, A does that sort of thing all the time, so what did C expect?"

"Well, C really didn't think A would do B this time. I mean, A should have known how C would have felt about it."

"Well, it's a fallen world."

"Well, that is fo' shizzle."

I admit that I enjoy that kind of gossip, even though I suspect it is one of those "harmful pleasures" that the "Secret" for the (traditional) First Sunday of Lent hopes we will refrain from indulging in. It's the fascinating never-ending story of A and C, and the sad recurrence of B in A's life, and C's disapproval of B.

People love stories about people. It's why so many of us collapsed into puddles of tears when the ever-entertaining Princess Di died. Well, that and the realization that if she could die, we could too. And, in fact, will.

It is always ghastly to discover that not only do you enjoy gossip about other people, but that other people enjoy gossip about you. I keep this thought before me like the reminder that I will die, and it sobers me up a bit. I attribute to it two things: (1) patient forgiveness of my dearest friends in advance for all past and future gossip about me (2) a reticence unknown in my teens and twenties, when I told anyone almost anything.

Very often the person gossip hurts most is the person who gossiped. This is particularly true when you are gossiping about yourself. I know an unfortunate woman who casually told her colleagues that she slept with one-night stands. This, of course, became the number one thing the colleagues knew about her, and since she had no problem discussing it, her colleagues thought nothing of discussing it, too. I imagine that it hurt her matrimonial prospects; I don't know what it did for her career.

There is a charming naiviety about the person who gossips about her- or himself. It's as if, in his or her humility, he or she thinks the listener will listen, sympathize, forget immediately, and never think the story worth telling to anyone else. This is, of course, madness. If the story involves sex, death, crime, media or exotic pets, it will certainly make the rounds.

Very rarely, I think, do people gossip to do harm. Just about everything you read in the newspaper is gossip, and it is important to know the news. It may be none of your business that Japan has just suffered a terrible earthquake, and one of its nuclear reactions may melt down, but you ought to know. You might wonder why, since there's nothing you can do about it, but don't go there right now. That's a good question, but for now let's assume its good to know most news.

It's very good to know news when you are vulnerable. Thus, if your boss is going bankrupt, it's good to know in advance so that you can find another job. Your boss doesn't want you to know, but for your own sake you should know. Your boss may throw a fit and condemn the "gossip" in the office, but hey. Tough cheese, boss.

In social affairs, there is much more of a question mark about what one ought to know. I am sure there are all kinds of terrible things said about me that someone has thought, "She has the right to know" and then very charitably not told me anyway. I live in blissful ignorance that D said E about me, and I am glad.

(Incidentally, I am absolutely sure this happens because sometimes people do tell me such interesting tidbits as, "All the teachers in my staff room hated your column on Eckhart Tolle. They love him. They kind of hate you." And once someone sent me an email by mistake, an email that revealed that others had thought (wrongly) I had Something Going On with Someone. Oh, my screams of rage.)

I always read eagerly to see what all advice columnists have to say about this little conundrum:

Dear Ann/Abby/Ellie/Auntie,

I saw my friend's husband/wife in a restaurant with another woman/man, and when I went up to him/her to say "Hi", he/she looked at me with panic. Should I tell my friend's wife/husband? I think she/he has the right to know.

Righteous Indignation

The advice columnists always, always, always say "Keep your mouth shut and say nothing unless your friend asks you." I think this is excellent advice. And the numero uno reason why is that nobody feels grateful to the person who tells them potentially really bad news. For your own sake, shut up.

Personally, if I'm going to swan around town with a man not my husband, I get my husband's permission in advance. That way it would be funny, not embarrassing, if there should be gossip.

Meanwhile, when the thought "I should tell So-and-so of such-and-such; So-and-so has the right to know" crosses my mind, I think very carefully indeed about my motivations.

Auntie Seraphic & a Nice Old-Fashioned Girl

In case you were wondering why I was so passionate on Saturday, it is because I got this letter on Friday.

Dear Auntie Seraphic,

I met a young man recently. He is [my age but] he is sexually experienced and I'm not. We went on two dates that went well, and on the third date, although he never pressured me into anything physical and we did hold hands and kiss, the sex discussion did come up.

He is from out of town, [though] planning to move closer, and was staying with a friend for the weekend. It was late at night and he said he didn't have a key to his friend's apartment, and asked if he could stay with me on my couch (I live alone).

I trusted that he wouldn't do anything inappropriate, but I still did not feel comfortable, and refused. I told him I'm old fashioned and I don't let someone stay overnight if I don't know them very well (side note - I later called his friend and apologized for waking him up and asked if my date could go to his place and everything turned out fine).

Anyway the discussion with my date kept going towards the sex topic and away from the staying-on-the-couch topic. And of course I eventually mentioned that I'm waiting for marriage.

This is a nice Jewish boy that I met in shul [Seraphic's note: her synagogue]. He seemed religiously observant, as he properly read the prayers in front of everyone, which normally takes a lot of practice. Even if a guy goes to shul it's very very rare that he shares my values. I'm talking about extremely religious guys as well.*

At first he kept saying things like "You don't belong in modern times, this is not how things work nowadays" and "You'll be single forever", and "I have friends who are waiting and waiting for their girlfriends, and I think these guys are total morons"

But then the questions went more towards "Why? If you've had sex before, why does another guy get the goods and I don't?" .. And then "The only logical explanation is that you're a virgin... Is this true?" well of course I had to tell the truth.

The next day he apologized for being a jerk, but he still told me I needed to learn to be more flexible and less stubborn, and that I need to meet him "in the middle" (He didn't specify - heavy petting? clothes on or off? it's something I've been wondering about).

He said if a woman makes a man wait for sex, then she has all the control over a relationship. And he doesn't want that, he wants an equal relationship with equal partners. [Seraphic's Note: I emphasized this part because this is the part where my head almost exploded.]

I asked him to give me a week to think about it. He agreed. But then we talked last night after the week was over, and he said it was inappropriate of me to make decisions like not talking to him for a week, that again I'm not being fair and an equal partner. [Seraphic's Note: Head exploding...] I tried to explain that I was upset and needed time to think. He said he was just honest with me and not saying things out of malice and I need to not get upset/defensive over him expressing his mind.

Since the first few meetings with him went so well, and this change so sudden, I'm trying to decide if he's just young and stupid, or if he's a manipulator, or... I don't know. We agreed to meet again tomorrow in daylight in a public place, but I still have time to refuse. My questions to you:

1) You mentioned before that virginity is only something discussed when you're engaged to someone, to let the person know he needs to be more gentle with you, etc. Well, clearly that didn't happen here.

I tried to answer his question with "Why does it matter if I'm a virgin or not, this is my life and my decision" but he would not let it drop. So, is it okay to mention virginity while still dating? How can I avoid these discussions? Clearly a guy who is dating me wants to sleep with me, it's going to come up sooner or later! And if I mention that I'm waiting for marriage within the first few dates while he still has no feelings for me, he won't call me again. However if I mention my virginity, then who knows, I might turn into another target for a conquest (which is a possible reason for why this guy still calls). [Seraphic: Indeed.]

I think the only way a guy would wait, is if he shares my values (I have not met ANYONE like that in the Jewish community) , or if he has feelings for me and is willing to be patient. I need to somehow make sure the feelings are there before I drop the bomb. But then I feel like I'm trapping the poor guy! Of course you can say that I need to find someone who shares my values, just like your husband shares yours. But your husband was well into his 30s when he became a Catholic, and while I'm willing to wait as long as it takes for the right man, guys in their 20s and even 30s are not willing to sacrifice something so important to them.

2) What should I do about this guy? I know I've mentioned mostly negative things, but I just don't know, he is nice in other ways. And through our conversations and spending time together I began to feel attached. He's a young horny guy and sexuality is a HUGE deal to him, as it should be, [Seraphic: I will return to this below] and now he finds out that a girl who seemed so much fun and he really liked is not what he expected. That's why I thought I'd give him another chance tomorrow. However when we talk on the phone he always turns it around to show that he's right and I'm the one that has something wrong with her. He also went as far as to mention that the only guys who would date me are either super religious (who likely sleep around anyway), losers who can't get anyone else, or guys who truly like me (I told him that's what I'm looking for but he focuses on the "loser" idea more).

By the way, I have another date tomorrow evening as well so it's not like I'm set on just this guy,but I know eventually it'll get to this with all other dates as it always has. I am not going to change my stance or values... but I just find it so hard. This whole thing is so upsetting to me... and I'm getting older (yes I know 2z is still okay, there's still time) and I try not to lose hope but every day I have less and less.

My parents, who are completely secular, say that there's nothing wrong with a woman waiting until marriage. They said a normal man should respect that. He should feel special and honoured that she has chosen him. So at least they're on my side :) They think it's okay for me to meet him again. I don't want to waste my time, but I also don't want to be a rigid unforgiving woman. I know I'm a warm, fun, loving person, and I think he saw that before the stubbornness of no sex came up.

So please, Auntie, let me know your thoughts... You can take your time to answer but if you could please give me a brief response asap regarding whether or not I should meet him tomorrow. Thanks.

A Nice Old-Fashioned Girl

*Long section specific to problems within the Jewish community with ritual purity vs sexual ethics excised. I found it very interesting, but not appropriate, perhaps, for non-Jews to comment on.


First, dear everybody, I know a lot of you had several heart-attacks while reading the above, so I want you to know that I wrote back to this girl right away, that she went on that date, and she was okay. Nothing bad happened, and the guy said he was tired of fighting. I think "fighting" was the wrong word. The word he was searching for was "bullying."

Dear Nice Old-Fashioned Girl,

Well, this is my fourth or fifth letter to you on the subject, so I'll just start from the beginning.

Thank you very much for allowing me to print your letter because it is a good reminder that Catholic and other Christian girls are not the only girls who value chastity and face such problems. In the part I left out, you refer to loopholes in Jewish sexual ethics of which some otherwise religious Jewish men take advantage. In orthodox Christianity, there are no such loopholes. This does not stop some Christian theologians from offering watered down sexual ethics, and many religious Christians from coming up with justifications for their own dodgy sexual behaviour.

Because I am, of course, not Jewish myself, I encourage you to discuss all the ethical problems you mentioned to me to a rabbi that you know and trust. I also recommend getting in contact with Wendy Shalit, the author of A Return to Modesty: Discovering the Lost Virtue. Not many people know that she is Jewish, but she is. She is also religious, so she might be able to give a defense of religious Judaism that I cannot.

One rather radical question that I just thought of is, How important is it for you to marry a Jewish guy? I keep thinking that there must be Jewish guys who share your values. But if you cannot meet any, I know that there are men of other religions/ethnic groups who do. However, if your most important bedrock value is marrying a man from your own ethnic group, go ahead and ignore my veiled suggestion!

Now, back to Mr. Bully, as I think of him, when I am not thinking of him as The Jerk. First of all, I am very impressed and thankful that you stood your ground and did not let him stay overnight at your place after your Third Date. It was not lost on me that the Sex Talk and his sudden need to stay at your place, not his friend's place, happened on the Third Date. He had this planned, don't kid yourself.

The fact that he argued with you at all does indeed show that he is a jerk. And a bully. I notice that right after he apologized for being a jerk, he continued being a jerk. His argument that being chaste gives a woman all the power in a relationship and that he wants an "equal" partnership is the most horrible, cynical and disgusting attempt at a guilt trip I have seen in a very long time. The only "equal partnership" that involves a man and a woman having sex is marriage--and although I don't believe in it, for the sake of secular readers, I will include common law marriage here, but only when the man and the woman both have a philosophical problem with real marriage. Everything else is too open to exploitation.

Mr Bully bullied you into confessing something very, very private. This made me think a lot about why women think they HAVE to do or tell things. You did not HAVE to tell him, but you thought you did. Why? Is it because women think we must always answer direct questions? Is it because it is so embarrassing to say "That's none of your business, and the subject is closed?" Gentle women often have a hard time saying that.

Okay, now I will answer your questions.

1a. First of all, yes. Sadly, nowadays interested men are almost always going to bring up the Sex Topic sooner or later, and usually sooner, unless they themselves are chaste. However, a simple, "I don't believe in sleeping with men I barely know" should suffice. If the man pushes with "How well do you have to know them?", I recommend a firm "Very well." If he continues to push with, "Well, give me a timeframe here," you are free to say, "I don't feel comfortable discussing this. Let's change the topic." If he doesn't change the topic, tell him you are no longer comfortable speaking to him and LEAVE. You now deserve an apology and flowers.

1b. Proving yourself to be a chaste woman is not dropping the bomb. Men today have "No means no" drilled into their heads in high school and college--at least, they did when I was in college. It should not be the HUGE shock they pretend it is that women sometimes say NO. You are not trapping anyone by going to the movies or dinner with them without planning to pay for it, like a prostitute, with sex. It is not a universal that women have sex with any or every male friend who asks. Only very weak-willed girls and women do that, and as you may have noticed in high school, nobody rewards them for that. Sex is not a necessary component of every affectionate relationship between a man and a woman.

1c. Since you brought him up, I am happy to say that my husband, who was active in the Episcopalian/Anglican Church from the age of ten, shared my values long before he was received into the Catholic Church.

1 d. By the way, I think you are exaggerating the importance of sex to men.* Acting like it is as necessary to himself as food, water and sleep is one of the ways an immature man guilts a woman into giving him her body to use. It is NOT "as it should be" for a young man to be obsessed with getting sex. For at least three thousand years, men have considered disciplining and schooling their desires the mark of a civilized man. Again, this is something you might want to discuss with a rabbi you like or a wise Jewish woman like Wendy Shalit.

2a. I think this guy is a complete jerk and a bully and that you should keep him at a friendly distance from now on. When I asked my husband for a man's eye view, he said "Tell her to run!" You mentioned in another email that he has a high-status job, but I don't care. A bully is a bully, a jerk is a jerk, no matter how much money he earns. You also mentioned that you are worried that he will go around telling everyone at shul that you are a virgin. First of all, I think it is unlikely that he will want to go around telling people he tried to pressure you into sex and you turned him down. Second of all, at a shul I once visited, the rabbi preached about the Jewish value of modesty and I suspect he would have nothing but praise for a 20-something or 30-something Jewish woman who was a virgin.

2b. Yes, it is hard. It is so hard. But it is a million times better than being used sexually and thrown away like a kleenex. The one guarantee that this will never happen to you is to be very careful of the men you choose to associate with and to wait for a man who loves you enough to wait until you are married to him.

2c. I am very glad your parents are supportive of you and that you can talk about these things with them.

2d. I am not a rigid, unforgiving woman, and I think your date was a horrible bully. Did I mention this? I hope he removes himself from your life sooner rather than later.

I hope also that this is helpful.

Grace and peace,
Seraphic

P.S. I think this man was lucky to meet you and that you may have taught him a very important lesson about modesty. I hope he remembers it.

P.S.2 One ex-Catholic guy I once dated told me years later that he really respected me for turning him down.

*Update: Having just received a furious comment from an unhappy man on the topic, I should stress that although men will not die from abstaining from sex, many married men become very, very unhappy if they are forced to go without it. Obviously sex is important to men, as it probably is to most women. But it is not so important that women have to lie down prostrate before men's sexual desire. Spouses, of course, should work together on sexual needs and wants.

To the furious commentator I can only recommend--in charity--a professional marriage counsellor. Professional counselling helped me immeasurably after my divorce.

Leave It In the Confessional

I've forgotten when I last wrote about this, but it doesn't matter because I probably should write about it once a month. This topic is of enormous importance, bringing together female psychology, male psychology, sin, forgiveness, reticence, modesty and heaven knows what else. If I remember correctly, the last time I wrote on this, a priest emailed to say "Good job." So here I go again.

Men and women commit sexual sins. Some are venial (not as serious, but still sins). Some are mortal (serious). Some sexual sins are committed alone, and some with others. Many of the serious one are committed with a good helping of such rationalizations as "we're probably getting married, anyway." If you don't believe in the concept of sin, stop reading now and go here.

Anyway, if you commit a serious sexual sin, it is important for your ultimate happiness that you feel sorry, that you confess it, and that you do penance. You confess your sin to God through, Catholics maintain, a priest in the confessional. And then you keep your mouth shut.

Men, I read the other day, process pain and stress by hiding away in a cave. Women, I know very well, process pain and stress by talking it out. Having committed sexual sins can be extraordinarily stressful for women in particular, not only because/if they have well-tuned consciences, but because the consequences can be extremely serious. As this is not a chastity lecture, I will not list them. You know what they are. The point I am making is that even if you are longing to talk about your sexual sins with your sympathetic new suitor, you absolutely must not do it.

For about six thousand years, the fewer men she slept with, the more honoured a woman was. Polygamy is not unknown, whereas polyandry is almost unheard of. In the early Christian era, widows were discouraged from marrying again, and although widows remarry without shame, many widows have prided themselves on being one-man women. And although there has almost always been some tolerance for the sexual sins of men, tolerance for the sexual sins of women is brand spanking new and hardly universal.

Is this fair? No, it is not. Human society is, was and will probably always be unfair until the end of time. Nature is unfair, too. In her Woman: An Intimate Geography, biologist Natalie Angiers is perturbed by the fact that the more men a woman has sex with, the more likely she is to get cervical cancer, even if she always uses condoms.

So if women feel deeply, deeply guilty over our sexual sins, even long after we have confessed them in the confessional, done our penance, and pulled up our moral socks, it is little wonder that some of us feel permanently damaged. We might even be haunted by the thought, "Would they/he still love me if he knew...?"

I am not a man, so I can't tell you firsthand what it is like to be a man hearing firsthand how a woman he loves or admires has been with another man or other men. But I believe that, in general, a mature, honest man born between 1940 and 1980 doesn't like it that much and doesn't really want to hear about it, but accepts that these things happen. If he is a humble man, he might remember that he has blotted his copybook himself, with himself if not with another person.

But many young religious laymen, I'm told, freak out. And goodness knows, anyone who wants to know what laymen think about women telling them their sexual sins can find out quickly by finding a chastity blog, or reading Jeff McL's comment in the "Reticence is Golden" combox below.

Many young religious men (I'm not talking about Jeff McL, here) are obsessed with virginity and terrified of sexually experienced women, and haven't a clue what goes through women's heads. To them we are either sexual angels or depraved demons, pure as the snow or base as the mud. Fortunately, most young men grow up and realize that women are human beings, much like themselves, only usually less inclined to self-abuse and looking at porn.

That reminds me, men are very visual about sex, which it is another reason not to confess your sexual sins to laymen (or to confessors in technicolour detail). They will immediately picture them in their heads. They can't help it, and it will make them feel terrible. Really, you should never tell your male friend, boyfriend or fiance these things, unless it is absolutely necessary to his health or your health that he knows (e.g. if you have herpes, your fiance needs to know).

You might also think twice before telling a female friend, unless she is the enviable kind of woman who can keep your secrets and other women's secrets, even from her boyfriend or husband. Otherwise, heaven knows who will find out. And these things stick in the mind.

On this blog, Single women occasionally make direct reference to their own sexual sins (e.g. losing their virginity to their last boyfriend, thinking they would get married anyway) in the combox under their habitual pseudonym. I think this is a terrible idea and never allow them to appear. The internet is forever.

In short, if you need to discuss such personal things after you have gone to confession, go to spiritual direction, a therapist, or a medical doctor.

Are women's sexual sins worse than those of men? No. I'm inclined to believe that men's are often worse and certainly more frequent. However, men are much less likely to go around telling people in the hope of obtaining absolution (or blessings) from all and sundry. They shut their mouths, and the good ones pray that the women they love never find out. They leave it in the confessional.

We should all leave it in the confessional.

Update: I had a sudden horrible memory of an article about sex discussion workshops in some American university or other. I fear it was one of those universities that stress how Catholic they are in the brochure, and then you get there and find something completely different. Anyway, I've long been haunted by quote by a nice Catholic girl at this workshop who confessed shame over "having inhibitions."

"You don't have inhibitions," I shrieked at the paper. "You have natural, healthy modesty!"