Mr. Harris even quoted one of my ex-wives. I thought she let me off easy by not telling him anything about some of my bad habits such as refusing to trim my toenails on the basis that you never know when you might have to climb a tree barefoot, at which time long toenails would come in handy. 

However, one thing did disturb me about the article and that was Mr. Harris' report that a group of Atlanta feminists had plotted to kidnap me for some alleged show of sexism on my part. 

After they kidnapped me, their plan was to tar and feather me in the middle of the city. 

Ladies, ladies, ladies. Aren't you going a little overboard here? 

What have I done to make the feminists consider kidnapping, which is against the law, and tar-and-feathering, a favorite tactic of the Ku Klux Klan? 

Have I ever said a woman should not make the same wages as a man if she could do the same job? 

No. 

Do I have a subscription to Playboy or Penthouse or other such publications that exploit women? 

No, although when I was younger I did spend a lot of time browsing through the women's undergarment section of the Sears & Roebuck catalog, something I outgrew in my early 20s. 
 

They've got me pegged all wrong
 

The truth is the feminists have me pegged all wrong. 

I am certainly a man sensitive to the needs of the modern woman. I didn't even get angry in a bar recently when a woman standing next to me dropped an ash from her cigar and burned a hole in my jacket. 

When I was sports editor in Chicago, I hired a female sportswriter, the first ever on the staff. I admit I assigned her the soccer beat, but that's better than covering bowling. 

I lost an arm-wrestling match to a woman once, and it did absolutely nothing to damage my ego, although my wrist was sore for a month. Cordie Mae Poovey, the girl who beat me, taught me early in life that certain women can outdo men in such physical endeavors as arm-wrestling, hair- pulling, belly-punching and shin-kicking. 

I'm not certain that Cordie Mae ever got involved in the feminist movement, but the fact she might have is another reason I refrain from overt acts of sexism. I don't want her to walk into my office one day and punch me in the belly and pull my hair and then kick me in the shins with her steel-toed brogans, as was her custom when angered in grade school. 

I am glad local feminists called off their sinister plot against me, for whatever reasons, and I hope this column clears the air between us and will discourage them from any similar notions in the future. 

And, if you don't want to shave your legs, my sisters, that's your business. 

I've always felt the same way about trimming my toenails.