Might a question be asked

Might a question be asked to make one think, not instinctively respond with no care, no insight, as to why it was asked in the first place.  Might a question be asked not to reveal the inquisitive one’s fancy but to teach.  The question had nothing to do with his own desires; it was designed to challenge.  Perhaps it met its goal- it was designed to offend, although not in the manner that it did.

It was a valid question and I’m willing to bet, especially with what was hashtagged (#teensaccused), he wasn’t asking for himself!

If a girl is drunk, is it OK to have sex with her?

My opinion of course is that the answer is no- (especially) if she’s not your wife, respect her enough to see not only the present moment but the future and past and consequences of mere skin on skin.  My opinion of course is that guys have incredible power over us whether or not we’re drunk and they should acknowledge that and respect it and aim to add value and not take from us.  My opinion of course is that it goes both ways.  We ladies have an incredibly strong power over men and should not aim to flaunt that.  We shouldn’t want to tempt them into doing something that would compromise us both.

even so, it was a valid question.


Recently I played Agnes Gooch in a community theater’s production of Auntie Mame- a nerdy outcast secretary who’s given quite a bit to drink and a pretty powerful makeover and transformed from sow’s ear to silk purse in the matter of maybe two or three minutes.

  She captivates the wide-eyed Irishman who stages a first class temper tantrum just moments before and shows up the next scene with glassy eyes, an askew dress, messy hair and a nervous laugh.  “Oh- we never made it to that party.  Brian said we were going for a drive, but we parked”.  I’m pregnant in the last scene.

If a girl is drunk, is it OK to have sex with her?

As the entire cast was trying to teach a very awkward/ embarrassed me how to shake her hips, my friend, the co-director, said- Val.  She’s drunk.  Sober Agnes would never get herself knocked up.

Basically this is the dress, this is the exhilaration of a single moment, this is the loss of reservations and the dream come true moment of actually being wanted that leads to the laughs as I walk across the stage with a belly bump, even more of an outcast than before.

One comment seemed to respond wisely:


He responds to a protest with:


& then there’s the most profound statement of all (not really, but still):


What is the best medium though?  Can we be encouraged to think without a primal outrage?