So… have you heard the one about the paunchy, not-very-attractive, high-level Frenchman who comes out of the bathroom in his New York hotel suite, buck naked, and throws the young hotel chambermaid on the bed and rapes her.

A real charmer, eh?

It’s not a joke. Dominique Strauss-Kahn, who was supposed to run against Nicolas Sarkozy in the next French presidential election, and is head of the International Monetary Fund, is the alleged rapist. After the incident, he hot-footed it to the airport and was pulled off the plane 10 minutes before it was set to lift off for Paris.

Why is it that we don’t hear stories like this that involve women perpetrators?

Here’s why: Women do not have the unmitigated arrogance, stupidly, shamelessness, selfishness, and wretchedness to conduct themselves in such a way. And they generally think with their brains.

I am not suggesting that all women behave in exemplary manners. Nor that all men are such asses. I am saying that the penis, while possessing some useful functions, can be a dastardly device.

I know where Woody Harrelson was last night between 8 and 10 pm. He was sitting two rows behind David and me at the theatre, where FOFs Frances McDormand and Estelle Parsons were starring in a play called Good People. I don’t know about Woody, but David and I loved the show, which has been nominated for a Tony Award. Frances plays a downtrodden woman who grew up in Boston’s tough Irish neighborhood and never got out. She reunites with a high school boyfriend, who is now a successful doctor, and confronts him about his values. It is funny, sad and tragic all at once, just like our real lives.

Becky Ann Baker (left) with Frances and Estelle

Frances and Estelle aren’t celebrities. They’re brilliant actors. You forget who they are as the play moves forward. They become the characters. Estelle is Frances’s wise-cracking landlady, who also babysits for her grown, mentally handicapped daughter. She has as much energy today as she did playing Blanche Barrow in Bonnie & Clyde, which earned her an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress in 1967. She looks incredible at 84.

The two actors also eschew glamor, not just for the roles they play, but in real life. As they took their curtain calls, and the audience enthusiastically applauded their performances, the expressions of pride on their faces showed how much their craft means to them.

Bravo Estelle and Frances! Bravo.

I met FOF Lissa in the early 1970s, when we were in our twenties and reporters at an important trade newspaper in the home furnishings industry. She had moved to New York from Cleveland following a divorce (she married very young and it just didn’t work out).

When Lissa met Bud, it was love at first sight. He was a preppy handsome, well-spoken man. She was wearing hot pants and a red, Little Orphan Annie style wig.  It didn’t perturb Lissa that Bud was 23 years her senior, with five kids and two marriages behind him. He was a charmer, smart and he adored her. He filled many roles, including father figure (Lissa’s father died when she was young); lover, adviser, and friend.

Lissa and Bud

They married and have had countless adventures together: Owned homes everywhere from the New Jersey shore to the Berkshires in Massachusetts; traveled the globe; supported each other’s careers; weathered a few severe storms (Lissa’s throat cancer years ago, for one); reinvented themselves a few times.

Lissa has been a giving, loving, entertaining stepmother to Bud’s five children. Bud was a wonderful son-in-law to Lissa’s mom, Alice, even if Alice was his contemporary. Lissa was even emotionally generous to Bud’s former wives and to his children, who she thinks of as her own. Lissa and Bud took care of each other, mentally, physically and emotionally.

Lissa broke her hip in March and had an emergency hip replacement. Spent a week in the hospital and another five days in rehabilitation. Through her convalescence Bud was Lissa’s principal caregiver. This is especially significant because yesterday was Bud’s 90th birthday.

I remember seeing Bud for the first time about 40 years ago. He was standing on Fifth Avenue and 12 Street, waiting for Lissa. Va-va-voom, I thought.

Happy birthday, Buddy Boy!

P.S. Read what Lissa has to say about Bud.

My mother and I lived in two different worlds.  I was in the real world and she was in hers. I never told her what I “needed” from her as my mother. It would have been a waste of time.  She generally focused on my dad, herself and her own needs, so I just got mad at her. Often.

A thirty something I know, who had her first baby a few months ago, has a mother similar to mine. She chose, however, to write her mom a long epistle (how do you like that word?), explaining what kind of grandmother she wishes she’d be, as well as mother.  If my daughter and I didn’t get along especially well, and she reached out to me like this daughter is doing, it would get my attention.  Sometimes someone needs to hit us over the head with the facts, even if it’s our own children.

Our daughters and sons may have emerged from our bodies, but they really are separate people from us.  Learning how to keep our distance, while respecting our children as they emerge as adults, is one of the hardest lessons in life.  That’s why Everyone Loves Raymond strikes a chord, isn’t it?

I admire my young friend.  I hope her mother has the sense to pay attention to her letter. I wish I had written one to my mom.