The Palm Beach Post from West Palm Beach, Florida on December 9, 1976 · Page 31
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The Palm Beach Post from West Palm Beach, Florida · Page 31

West Palm Beach, Florida
Issue Date:
Thursday, December 9, 1976
Page 31
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Page 31 article text (OCR)

Palm Beach Post, Thursday, December 9, 1976 B9 .. . 1 FIRST YOU CRY BETTY ROLLIN riS published by J.B. lippincoll Hiding It Easy; Living it Isnt NUMBER ONE" GJCQGL IN AMERICA . . , MICROWAVE OVEN MfhExcteveCOOKMATIC POWER SHIFT LOW medroast I WARM I SIM Cook delicious, nutritious family meals in minutes instead of hours! HIGH I I COOKMATIC K mrmrm i i 53 I ' - PUTS YOU IN FULL CONTROL OF EVERYTHING YOU COOK! EVEN KEEPS YOUR DINNER WARM 'TIL YOU'RE READY! Time Saver and Energy Saver! Cooks most foods in ' , normal Automatic Timor Cont'ol ohmr-nates unneeded cookim; timo and additional energy savngs Only the food heats and i ooks No energy wasted in heat-up" times Operates on 115 volts No special wiring needed You .can do something about the energy crisis! Example of savings shown From the Amana Test Kitchen: 72i SAVINGS 2 lb Bak"d Whole Chicken 70o SAVINGS - 4 Looster Tails (frozen 8 oz each) 51 SAVINGS 11 lb Turkey 50o SAVINGS 1 cup of Instant Coffee 82o SAVINGS from the Fry Pin 4 Hamburger Patties (4 oz ea ) h , i . A study of an independent marketing research company. Market Facts, Incorporated, revealed that of those families planning to purchase a micro-ware oven in the last five months of 7976, who identified the brand they intended to buy, 5,.5'b named the Amana Radarange Microwave Oven. WHY DO PEOPLE PREFER THE AMANA RADARANCE 4-T0-1? Easy to Use! Just slide the Power Shift control to the appropriate position for the precise speed of cooking you desire. Also gives yoo total control when you defrost foods, vegetables, etc. Cook almost everything gourmet perfect everytime! The quality that goes into every Amana Radarange is legend. That quality of construction and design has made 4 Amana Radarange models RR-4DW, RR-6W, RR-7 and RR-9 the only microwave ovens exempted by the U.S. Government from displaying a warning label on the door. The Amana patented Choke Seal Door kept microwave emission well within the government requirements throughout the most exhaustive and destructive product testing. and derivative models fact of which she must be at least minimally- aware. One of the things I've always liked about Betty Friedan, incidentally, is that from the beginning of the women's movement, she - shamelessly has never stopped going to the beauty parlor. ) When I was in the sixth grade, there was a contest at the end of the year: who was the most this, the best that. I was voted the smartest girl, but Lorraine Solzer was voted the prettiest, and (even though I came in second) I cried. Has nothing changed? Answer: Plenty has changed, but not that. Scratch most feminists, heterosexual or homosexual, and underneath there is a woman who longs to be a sex object. The difference is, that's not all she longs to be. If I were in the sixth grade today, I'd be happier than I was to be the smartest, and slightly less miserable about not being the prettiest. But only slightly. Everyone at the party thought I was still pretty. I passed, all right. But transvestites pass, too. It's nice to fool everyone. It's nice to get a prize for your costume. But it doesn't stop you from knowing, yourself, what's underneath. I got a little drunker. Then we left the party and went home. During that first week at home, I kept swinging up and down. Mostly down. I had not figured out any new techniques for handling the downs, except to keep talking and, occasionally, writing. A few more people knew what had happened to me now, so there were a few more ears to bend. As I got stronger, I invited people to lunch. Anyone who came paid dearly for their eats. It was one tuna fish sandwich in exchange for an hour of Betty and her breast. Sometimes I reverted to my brave act. But mostly not. Mostly I just yammered. I said the word a lot: cancer. I liked to say it, I needed to spit it out. That was hard on some people, I know. Doctors aren't the only ones who prefer "malignancy" or "mammary carcinoma" to cancer. People who come for lunch don't like it much either. The technical words, I guess, sound safer. They're more distant, less personal. "Malignancy" sounds like something that happens to a cell. Most people can't picture a cell. Or if they can, they picture it as a thing. Cancer, on the other hand, sounds like something that happens to a person. A person like you, maybe. The two stockings didn't work. Stockings have no weight, and breasts do, so I was always off kilter. If I raised my arm, which I now was able to do, the left side of the bra with the stockings would rise, and when I lowered my arm the weightless buggers would stay up. Also, the stockings looked funny. They were lumpy. And my loose-fitting shirts were not that loose-fitting. So I decided to have a look at a place Singermann told me about where they sell false breasts. Naturally, they're not called that. They have one of those nice, distant, more-than-two-syllable names: prosthesis (singular); prostheses (plural). The place, which turned out to be in an office building, was started by a woman who had it. There were clothes racks with nightgowns and bathing suits. Most of the bathing suits had peculiar, covered tops, but that was not noticeable at a glance. Behind the counter, ceiling to floor, there were shelves with white boxes, the kind that usually hold slips or underpants. It was not at all obvious what the boxes did hold. The two saleswomen were both busy at the other end of the store, so I peeked into one of the boxes. There, in cellophane, with white tissue paper around it, was a single, rounded, pinkish blob, about 6 inches wide, four high, and three deep. It was a breast. I closed the box. The rest of my visit to the shop is a blur. A saleswoman finally came over and told me it was too soon after surgery to get one of the things in the box (which I did not ask to see again). She sent me off with a temporary prosthesis - a four-dollar wad of Dacron, which looked like cotton, with a flesh-colored nylon cover, and I got out of there fast. (c) By Betty Rollin Amu MMI tJ 'MM Iffffffl . I I M I I JIB Fifth in a Series What do you do when you can t bear it? There is only one thing to do: Bear it. Later, some people, some women, would ask me, "How could you bear it?" Answer: You bear it, because what else are you going to do? What are the alternatives? Not to bear it? What does that mean? You bear it, because not to bear it is to crack or to kill yourself. One can't choose to crack you do or you don't so that is not an alternative. To kill yourself is, but who would be crazy enough to do that? I throbbed with feelings I knew I shouldn't have: rage, self-pity, fear, frailty. I didn't like myself for having them. I liked myself in the hospital better. I liked that phony in the hospital, that Sleeping Beauty. She was good. She was cheerful. She was brave, a good sport. Everyone loved her. Who would love her now? Where did she go, that Good Betty? i stood at the sink and thought about her. I also thought about the other Good Betty Mrs. Ford, waving gamely with her bad arm from the White House balcony and those other brave, good ladies. "Just fine," Happy Rockefeller had said, when a reporter asked her how she felt after her mastectomy. And what of those other good, smiling, brave, famous ladies? Fine, they were all fine. "I'm happier than I've ever been in my life," Marvella Bayh beamed on syndicated television after her operation. What was the matter with me? I was one of the lucky ones, after all. No bad stuff in the nodes. Why was I being such a lousy sport all of a sudden? I was out of the hospital Sunday. On Wednesday, I went to a cocktail party. I wanted to go to the party because after three days of feeling rotten, a decreasing flow of visitors and flowers and a husband who was losing patience, I longed for the good old hospital days. I couldn't get them back, but a party at least might help me revive my good old hospital self. Wow, three days out of the hospital and she's at a cocktail party. Whatta kid. Whatta woman. I could use a little of that. Also, I wanted to see if I could camouflage the war zone, if I could still get myself up to look nice. It might have been the Senior Hop. I took an hour-and-a-half to get ready. It took one-third of that time just to find the right blouse, one that was loose enough. There wasn't much to pick from. Most of my blouses and tops were tight, because of the nice tits I used to have and because I used to show them off. But none of that. No looking back. No looking front, either! Ha-ha, joke. I rigged up a fabulous bogus left breast for the occasion. What a clever girl. Here's how I did it: put on my loosest bra, hooked it on the loosest hook, so that it would go over the bandage, stuffed it first with Arthur's white tennis sock (too big), then a stocking (too small), then two stockings (just right), Then, off to the ball! I was a sensation. Okay, okay, so my entrance was a little wobbly. People just thought I was coming from another cocktail party. But I talked, I giggled. I did my nice-to-see-yous and fines in response to everyone's how-are-yous, but I kept wondering who knew, who knew, and were pretending they didn't. The ones who said, what have you been up to? Haven't seen you on the tube lately they surely didn't know, because they wouldn't have said that, right? Was that all it took? If somebody thinks I'm good old me, does that make me good old me? 1 had a drink. "You've gotten so thin!" cooed a woman whom I knew slightly. She was being complimentary, of course, Darling! I found something that beats Dr. Stillman's water diet and Kounovsky's exercise combined! Cancer! Guaranteed to take off a few pounds or the cost of surgery back! . . . "Thanks," was what I actually said. I was drunk, but not so drunk that I didn't know I was passing. I was passing. Incredible. Nobody knew. Nobody could tell. They thought I looked wonderful. Thin. "Lovely," someone else said. Each time someone complimented me, I ducked into the bathroom and, standing on my toes, checked myself out in the medicine-cabinet mirror. Front and side. Then I repowdered my face and went back into the living room for another go. Was this a feminist talking? Was I not a woman whose self-esteem hung on her personhood, rather than her looks? What was this perverse terror of not being a sex object? Was I, am I, not above that? Answer: No, I am not and have never been and probably never will be above that. Nor are most women I know, most of whom are ardent, authentic, card-carrying feminists. Sure, for a while some of them pretended to be above caring how they looked. Or they practiced not caring. (In the late '60s, Lois Gould didn't wear eye makeup for a year, and Gloria Steinem stepped into a pair of blue jeans and, as far as I know, never stepped out. Of course, Gloria Steinem looks good in blue jeans, a r i UPRIGHT FREEZERS II IIMAAAJUUU I " JV A' 1M1 IISS Stor-Mor RefrigeratorFreezer The Amana upright freezer that's completely Free-O'-Frost! Exclusive Frost-Magnet prevents frost formation on packages! LOADS OF Amana convenience features; Convertible doors, two automatic cold controls, completely Free-O'-Frost, and Amana 3 Position Energy Saver Control. CNOOSC THE SIZE AND MODEL IEST SUITED FOR YOUR FAMILY! Freezer on Top Freezer on Bottom Freezer on Side dbza Deepfreeze f l I I K K t. 1. 1 H 1 Exclusive v y i it Stor-Mor 3 Door" ana IriRfudGUDilGn -( -----r 1 Ice N Water. COMPACTOR Small enough for kitchen. Efficient spate saving foam insulation. Also available in other sizes up to 28 cu. ft Stde-by-Side Auto. Refrigerator CHOOSE: 19, 22, 25 CU. FT. Ij'jjjj Uses inexpensive plastic bags from your grocery store. Compacts trash in a round bucket to tit a round can. Round, removable, easy to clean bucket. Lock and key prevents unauthorized operation. Compacts bottles, cans, cartons, all kinds of trash. Push the Water Dispenser Bar Push the Ice Dispenser Bar and it dispenses , and it dispenses cold water glass cubes for a glass after glass. or a party. sir &' CONVENIENT TERMS ARRANGED! 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