Speaking as a woman...

...this is why I hate so many other women.

Pieces like this get written, then guys react like this, and feminist scholars, women who couldn't attract (and keep) a man if her life depended on it, and Democrat women (but I repeat myself) get all butt-hurt and scream "sexist!"

When I was in grad school (back in early '04), I wound up forgetting the lunch I'd packed on the counter at our apartment, about a ten minute walk from my office.  It was winter, in northern Kansas, and cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.  And, because of the cold and damp (18" of snow and ice that kept accumulating because it kept snowing and didn't get out of the tweens for highs for a fraggin' month), an old sports injury had me hobbling around on a cane like an eighty-five year old woman. 

And I knew I had forgotten my lunch.  And I was resigned to going hungry until Odysseus came to pick me up for the day, around 5:30, after my class on how to teach class which didn't teach me anything about teaching--just about the theory of teaching. 

Then, he called me after my class let out, told me to meet him at the door.  I made it up the hall and up the elevator about the same time he ran in the building's back door.  He kissed me, told me to have a great day, and handed me my lunch.

One of my classmates/colleagues was standing nearby.  She'd just gone through a nasty divorce, and her eyes were watering with her mouth hanging open.  "Why can't I find a guy like that?" she asked.

I don't recall what I said, but I remember thinking, "because you have to let them keep their damn balls if you want them to act like a man, you dumb lefty bint." 

Another instance had me heading back to the department, enjoying one of the first days my knee wasn't killing me in six months--no armload of books and papers, just a single folder tucked under my arm.  Another of my female colleagues was juggling a double armload that she was trying to keep tucked between her forearms and her chin, and trying to open a pair of double doors at the same time.  Two sets of them--kind of like an airlock for cold weather.

Two of my male colleagues/classmates were standing nearby, watching and smoking.  Then I waved at one of them--a pretty good friend, at that point--and he nudged the other one.  The two of them dropped their cigarettes and jumped to open both sets of doors.

My female colleague was just inside the second set.  She'd not managed to not lose everything she was carrying, so she was sitting in the middle of a snowstorm of freshman composition papers.  "Why didn't they open the door for me?" she asked, staring pointedly at my single folder.

Since she was also directly in charge of the graduate teaching assistants, I just shrugged helplessly, and didn't say anything.  But, not two days earlier, I'd seen her snap both young men's heads off for doing for her what they'd just done for me.  

Horowitz wrote a screed about angry, immature boy-men, then was shocked that the gender she spent an entire book dissing struck back.  Of course, she brushed it off as just an example of exactly what she was talking about, but I don't think she realizes that a real adult holds a real job (not as a research academic in the sheltered workshops that major research universities have become--much to the detriment of the rest of higher education's reputation), and tend to vote with their wallet. 

Real adults understand that talking smack against half the population might well endear you to some of the other half, but will more than likely offend anyone with a brain in their head and an ounce of maturity.

Horowitz needs to put on her big-girl panties and deal with the fact that it's the fault of academics like her that most of a generation of men have been turned into either metrosexuals with bigger pussies than women, or woman-hating misogynists that would rather pay a woman to go away after he's done with her than get into a relationship. 

My last advice to women who read feminist theory like it's the truth handed down from God on high: Get off the drama-llama before you break its back.  If you can't find a man that meets your unrealistic standards, it's your own damn fault.