Gloria Steinem once said, “The surest way to be alone is to get married.” 

While loneliness and “feeling alone” is certainly the case for many married women, the blame cannot be placed entirely on men. And to be completely politically incorrect, married men are lonely too.

On the contrary, as my mother always said, “It takes two to tango my dear, and it can be a really good tango or a very bad one, depending upon the effort you put into it.”

Ever since I can remember, I watched my very independent and very feminine mother wait on my father, on her own terms, and she made no bones about enjoying it either. Even after working all day in her own business, she managed to whip up some pretty hot dishes for my father every night, without resentment or bitterness, and while looking pretty damn sexy, I might add.  Okay feminists, you can email your hate letters now.

Keep in mind that my mother was a revolutionary of sorts as the Women’s Liberation Movement was in full swing. I recall friends of hers act appalled at the way my mother paid so much attention to my father’s needs, as if she should be somehow act apologetic when she asked if he would like her to freshen his drink or another helping of brisket.

As an outspoken political junkie even as a young teen, I remember debating a much older woman at a dinner party letting her know that daily domestic dalliances by a woman “does not turn back the clock” for women and feminists.

On the contrary, I said that if the Feminist agenda looked down upon a woman because it was “her choice” to cook, clean and take of her family, than the Woman’s Movement was just a another way of keeping women in their place, albeit just a different one with a new catch phrase.

I will never forget the serene look on my mother’s beautiful face when she brought my father his plate of home-cooked food each night, as if it were the most important dinner she ever cooked.  He was always served before my siblings and I.

These were confusing political social times. Many of my friend’s parents got divorced over countless arguments over issues such as who was going to cook dinner or pick up the kids, as most parents were both now working as we were well into the Women’s Movement which heated up in the 1960’s. And besides, the term "working mother" is perhaps the greatest oxymoron that exists in the English dictionary, all mothers work.

Many women were angry, men were angry, and most of my friends ended up at my house on weekends, awaiting my mother’s home cooked meals, as if they were starved not only for the five basic food groups, but for a more grounded and bonded familial setting.

Remember the television commercial with the song about how women could bring home the bacon and then fry it up in the pan?  That was my mother, but unlike many other mothers I knew, she wasn’t battling inner female demons as to whether or not she was more or less of a woman if she decided to do what made herself and family happy.

My mother taught my two sisters and I how to cook, sew, clean, and most importantly, how to be independent and interdependent women, which meant making our own decisions despite what any status quo had to say about it.

With all of this said, there’s almost nothing that makes me happier than cooking for my man. And I am not just saying this for shock value or to piss any other feminists off, even though I know that it will. Truthfully, I would rather be barefoot in the kitchen cooking sometimes rather than at a business meeting.

Some feminists tout that women who stay home with their children or boast about the joys of domesticity are turning back the clock for the women’s movement, as if speaking out loud about how love to take care of my man’s needs and make him happy could possibly be a bad move in anyone’s good book.

News Announcement: Even though I am an independent, professional woman, I enjoy bringing my man coffee in the morning, asking him if he’d like a cold beer at night, dropping his shirts off at the cleaners, and even doing some creative dancing in a hot little number, if you know what I mean.

Not only do I not feel like I a more independent woman when I indulge myself in such very feminine acts; but more womanly and strong, because my man appreciates the uniquely feminine attention I shower upon him, and I return accept what he gives in return.

If anyone has a doubt about the power of femininity, my parents are still married after 53 years, they both still work, and my mother continues to make dinner for my father every night.  And oh  . . . she also looks twenty years younger than her age and has 30-year old hotties hit on her. In other words, she makes sure to take care of herself. 

As an independent politically-active professional woman, I am able to leave my politics at the door each evening, and ask my stud if he’d like a glass of wine and little parmesan cheese on his lasagna. 

Seeing that satiated look in his manly eyes with a wink makes me feel even more like a woman that I am, and both us of us more satisfied in our relationship as a result.

If if I am called an anti-Feminist because I know how to treat my man, I welcome the title. 

And as the debate continues to heat up, I’ll be in the kitchen, cooking up something spicy and hot.