The ability to wear a short skirt and to be a scientist are completely unrelated.

Usually I skip Maureen Dowd's articles, finding them too brassy and immoderate for me. However, her article on the modern working girl has a point (only until page 3 out of 7 pages). Dowd notes that:

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"Feminists in the 70's went overboard," Anne Schroeder, a 26-year-old magazine editor in Washington, agrees. "Paying is like opening a car door. It's nice. I appreciate it. But he doesn't have to."

Unless he wants another date.

Women in their 20's think old-school feminists looked for equality in all the wrong places, that instead of fighting battles about whether women should pay for dinner or wear padded bras they should have focused only on big economic issues.

After Googling and Bikramming to get ready for a first dinner date, a modern girl will end the evening with the Offering, an insincere bid to help pay the check. "They make like they are heading into their bag after a meal, but it is a dodge," Marc Santora, a 30-year-old Metro reporter for The Times, says. "They know you will stop them before a credit card can be drawn. If you don't, they hold it against you."

One of my girlfriends, a TV producer in New York, told me much the same thing: "If you offer, and they accept, then it's over."
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Yes, most girls aren't the strident feminists of their mothers' generation. The question isn't always "Why not?" but "How is it different?" I admit that I've gotten accused of setting women back 50 years, by preferring to ask a guy to walk me home at night over a group of girls. I ask guys to lift heavy boxes or a fridge for me whenever possible. Making people feel important is classy and attractive. However, I wouldn't consider myself weaker in the process. I simply recognize my own limitations. Just because I would rather have a guy lift a heavy box for me doesn't mean that I expect him to make more money than me. Or even that I want him to do so.

Two years ago, at least two of my friends admitted that they want to stay at home and raise kids. I was awestruck at this since I've always been of the notion that one day I will morph into Superwoman, able to have a model family, a husband who can cook, clean, and have carpentry skills equal to that of my father, and a prolific career that at least requires a cell phone or a pager. I'm more realistic now. Two out of the three for both my husband and myself is still a passing grade. For my friends, I realize that this is probably a happier choice and at the very least, equally fulfilling.