Is America Ready for a Woman President?

When I was a little girl, I really and truly believed we'd have one by now, but it didn't happen.

Last night, The Daily Show's Samantha Bee offered her perspective on the question. It's hilarious, and you can watch it here:



My friend's husband, a cardiologist who grew up in Greece, says it's high time America got with the times and elected a woman to its highest office. He backs Hillary.

It's way too early for me to decide who I'll vote for (although I'm quite sure who I won't vote for). I just wish more than one woman had stepped up to run this race.

Bitches

Yesterday, I objected to the current fashion of substituting the word "bitch" for "woman." It's bad enough when a guy does it (actually, it's a red flag, so don't date him), but it's especially troubling when females do it.

You hear it on reality television, but real-life women and girls love to "bitch," too. I know a group of attractive, middle-class girls from Connecticut who routinely refer to each other as "bitches." Sometimes they get fancy and call each other, "bee-yotch."

It's idiotic.

Not only do they consider people of their own sex mongrels, they take style pointers from Paris Hilton (one of them actually carries a little purebreed in her purse). They live their lives according to the gospel of Teen People.

Unfortunately, some of their post-college counterparts also suffer from the disease that makes them disrespect other women.

On Saturday night, I went out with friends. While we were having drinks after dinner, a group of 20-something women cackled at a forty-ish woman as she danced to "Living On a Prayer" by Bon Jovi. Then one of them further insulted the dancer by swiping her seat at the bar. Did it ever occur to these dopes--if they're lucky-- that they'll be 40 one day?

To cap things off, yesterday my daughter came home from school and told me of a conflict she had with girl in her class, who likes to go by the nickname, "Albanian Slut."

Albanian Slut cornered my daughter. "Do you have a crush on B___________?" she barked. "You better not, Bitch! You stay the #@#$ away from my man!"

Her man? These girls are 12 years old.

In case you haven't noticed, most guys don't treat each other this way.

Women complain that we're still second-class citizens, but a lot of the time it's our own fault. If you call other women "bitches," guess what? You're the problem. If you spend half the day on the phone criticizing other women, you're the problem.

And if you think you have to degrade other women to get a man's attention, you're really the problem.

Rock of Sleaze

VH1's Rock of Love lost any charm it once possessed last night with the broadcast of "Meet the Parents."

The parents of the three remaining LSEs (or women who hold themselves in startling low self-esteem) were rolled in to meet Bret Michaels, the egomaniacal frontman of the the forgettable '80s hair band, Poison.

It's bad enough that any human being would willingly subject herself to the humiliation Bret and the show's sadistic producers shell out, but it's inconceivable that she would do it in front of her parents.

Bret took each of the LSEs and the people who spawned them on a field trip, in an effort to get to know them better. Heather, the stripper who had our hero's name permanently branded on her neck, and her crew got to go to Bret's favorite restaurant.

While enjoying a beer bong, Heather's purple-faced father treated his host with fart stories, which had Bret slapping his knee in earnest. Who knew that Bret Michaels loves a good fart story? What a regular guy! Then Heather treated us to a spirited performance on a mechanical bull.

Next, Bret took Jes and her parents shopping for rock star clothing, gleefully transforming Jes' middle-American-looking, middle-aged mother into the village idiot.

Then our hero met up with Lacey, the resident wacko, and her wacko father and surprisingly sane-looking stepmother. Lacey's dad bragged that he's a successful man and informed Bret that if he wanted to marry his daughter he'd have to sign a pre-nup.

Later on, Heather revealed to Lacey's parents (and everybody else) that Lacey had been providing Bret with oral sex, while she, good girl, hadn't done "anything sexual" with him. She is clearly the better person. Lacey is a slut! An evil, evil slut! Heather then announced that she is in love with Bret, the recipient of said oral sex.

Is it just me who sees the flaw in Heather's logic? (If her parents did, we weren't privy to their objections.)

Incensed, Lacey's father tracked down Bret to investigate. Cut to Bret, who confided to us in TV land, "Wow. Every rock star's nightmare. A man asking if his daughter's been s______ your c_____.

Note to Bret: It's usually best not to refer to oneself as a rock star when it just underscores the sad reality that you're really not. Bruce Springsteen is a rock star. So is David Bowie. And Ann Wilson. And Chrissy Hynde. And dead people like John Lennon and Jerry Garcia.

But you? No.

I still cannot understand what any of the LSEs stands to gain by winning this "rock star." (My cousin maintains they're all actresses hungry for exposure, but somehow I doubt any of them will show up in Hedda Gabler, let alone on The View.)

Lacey got the boot last night, so we're down to Jes and Heather. My money was on Jes for a while, but she's got this terrible habit of calling other women "bitches," and it's kind of hard to abide.

Secrets of Attraction

Viveca Stone-Berry interviewed Sandra Ann Taylor, author of Secrets of Attraction: The Universal Laws of Love, Sex, and Romance (I've read it and recommend it), for her Get Ready For Love radio show.

Listen by clicking here.

Law of Attraction Strikes Again

Sophia Loren, Venice, 1955

Well, I'm going out with The Girls on Saturday night (and not the ones I gave birth to, either). It's a major feat scheduling the group of us into the same place at the same time, but it looks like we'll pull it off.

Despite the fact that we'll drink like sailors, these special evenings require a modicum of glamour, so I ran the contents of my closet through my mind to put together the perfect outfit. I decided on the gray pleated A-line skirt with the fitted V-neck black top, except I could not find the top. Anywhere.

Last night, I decided to go shopping this morning for a similar top. Oh, and a pair of patent leather pumps. And a bag (it's time to retire that white thing I carried around all summer). I found the last two items, but the right top eluded me. I found something similar with a crew neck, but that will not do.

So I drove home and rummaged through my drawers and my closet and the offsprings' drawers and closet--and came up empty again. But all the while I saw myself Saturday night in my outfit. I had it down to lipstick and earrings. I felt myself in it.

Later on, as I left a voice mail for my aunt, the doorbell rang. It was the postman with a package from my friend, M, who'd called Tuesday to say she was sending me a teapot and some clothes she'd bought on a whim and never wore.

A few hours later, while watching the rerun of last night's Daily Show, I opened M's box and discovered the very top I need for Saturday night.

This not the first time I used LoA to attract the right outfit, although in the past, I've actually drawn on paper the dress I wanted to wear to a wedding--and then gone out and found it (which beat sewing it, that's for sure).

For those of you who are just joining me, I also used the Law of Attraction to meet the kind of man I wanted to marry. Then I married him.

You In the Nude?

Recently, a reader wrote in to ask my opinion of her new boyfriend's request that they exchange nude photos via email. At the time, I thought it was a no-brainer. Why would any intelligent person consider doing such a thing, especially in the Internet age?

I wrote to tell her that it was a terrible idea. Since then, I've learned that taking nude photos and performing in homemade porn flicks rivals the popularity of, say, the craze for brewing one's own beer in the early 1990s.

For example:

A couple of weeks ago, a mild-mannered, churchgoing man told me that he threatened a neighborhood teen not to copy or distribute a sex tape in which the boy appeared with the man's daughter.

And...

A newlywed couple invited their parents over to view footage from their Caribbean honeymoon. They accidentally screened parts of it that should have been kept in the dark.

And...

While cleaning out a closet, a teenage girl came across a stack of nude photos of her older brother and his wife.

Do you get where I'm going with this?

Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, and now Vanessa Hudgens (that's V in the photo) have shown up on the Internet in the buff, and it amounts to brilliant publicity. They're celebrities. But for real people like you and me, posing nude or performing sex acts for the camera inevitably results in disaster.

Resist all temptation.

Dating Advice From a Man Who Knows

When you want to know what a guy is thinking, it helps to get a man's perspective.

That's why I love Jeff Mac. He's smart, compassionate, and funny (when he's not dispensing love and dating advice, he's a comedian; you may have caught his act on Comedy Central).

Check out Jeff's take on your chances of becoming the 'girlfriend' instead of the 'friend,' what it means when a guy doesn't make a move, and the truth about those tricks women's mags prescribe to drive a guy wild in bed here!

Got something to ask Jeff? He's taking questions..

He's Not Your Mr. Right

Dear Terry:

Earlier this summer I invited a guy I was dating steadily to attend a concert with me this coming weekend. The tickets cost me $160.00.

NOW HERE'S THE DILEMMA: We I haven't been out together since August 5th, althought I did see him August 11th to pick up a hat I left in his car. That parting was cold and indifferent. The last bit of warmth I felt from the guy was in July .

(Although he did call on Labor Day to invite me to play golf. I wasn't available, so I called him on his cell and left a voice mail and sent him an email too. Heard nothing since...)

Back to the concert: What should I do about it? Should I remind him? Am I still entitled to go with him?

Please help. Time is ticking on this one.

-Confused North of the Border

Dear Confused:

Today is Tuesday. Email this person and remind him about the concert. Tell him that if you don't hear from him by tomorrow evening that you will give his ticket away.

In the meantime, line up someone fun to take it (friend, relative, co-worker, whatever) in case he doesn't get back to you. Go to the concert. Make a firm decision to have a great time.

Stop thinking about the money you put out; what's done is done.

Your previous emails to me indicate that this guy is probably not the right man for you. If he doesn't contact you, be grateful you weren't stuck wasting another perfectly good Saturday night with him.

Bret Michaels In Vegas

You really need a pen and a notebook to fully enjoy Rock of Love. Some of the stuff that comes out of Bret Michaels' mouth is hilarious. (I didn't have the proper equipment on hand last night, so forgive me for paraphrasing.)

To help determine which of the four LSEs would go home this week, Bret took them to Las Vegas (where, odds are, he's bald as a bean underneath the 'do rag) to see him in concert.

"They've seen Bret Michaels the man," he explained, "and now I want them to see Bret Michaels the rock star." Actually, the way he said it was even more obnoxious, so catch the repeat if you have the stomach for it tonight at 6.

Two of the LSEs got wasted at the concert after-party (which appeared to be little more than being forced to booze it up with a couple of band members--no Bret in sight-- in a storage closet; furthermore, you'd think a rock-n-roll party would include music). Then, all four of them went off to meet Bret in his room for dinner, where the LSE in the above photo threw up at the table.

The winning (or, in this case, best-behaved) LSE got to stick around for a nightcap. Jes, the pretty, pink-haired Mother Teresa, who cleaned up the Vomiting Wonder, was rewarded for her efforts. Lucky girl exclaimed the next morning, "I got to know him sexually!"

But not before Bret announced:

"After I pulled Brandi's head out of the toilet, she said the most touching thing to me. She said she's falling in love with me."

Later on in the show, The King of Chastity spent a night with another LSE, not Brandi, but a volatile (and possibly psychotic) person named Lacey. The way Bret spreads the love around, somebody might want to send him out for a blood test.

In the end, Vomiting Brandi packed her bags, despite the proclamation of love she made from that cold tile floor. Lacey, Jes, and Heather (the LSE who had 'Bret' tattooed onto her neck last week) will return next week for more hijinks.

Beauty Tip For a Hot Date

To avoid showing up looking like you've been shot out of a cannon, sleep is paramount. Former insomniac Viveca Stone-Berry offers this round-up of tips that'll put you in dreamland in no time.

While some of the tips are aimed to women with children, others will benefit any woman --or man-- in need of a good night's sleep (I especially like Tips 5 and 6 myself).

No pills or booze required.

Too Provocative to Fly 'Family Airline'

This woman was kicked off a Southwest flight for being dressed inappropriately (watch the Today Show clip here).

Even though Today viewers caught a flash of underwear when she sat down, her outfit resembled the stuff lots of women (and Abercrombie-clad preteens) wear to the mall. She's carrying more fabric than the broads on Desperate Housewives, that's for sure (well, except maybe for Lynette).

On a planet where PTA members take their children to Hooters for dinner ("The best hot wings!" they squeal), the line between appropriate and inappropriate dress has blurred to oblivion.

Gotta wonder about the real motive of the "gentleman" crew member who lectured this passenger about her attire on a "family airline." My guess: His girlfriend just kicked him to the curb, and he needed to humiliate somebody.

How to Email a Guy In a War Zone

Dear Terry:

I have really, really enjoyed and benefited from your emails since I signed up. It's great perspective.

I have a question to throw into the mix. While there are a number of potential candidates for dates at the moment, the man I think I like the bet is, unfortunately, deployed to Iraq. I've never met him; he's someone my Dad thought would be great for me, but we're both formerly married, so the conversation got going over email last January when it became clear we were both now divorced and available. Initially, I just treated it as a sort of a reach-out to a person in a war zone and therefore under considerable distress (my small part to help the troops...Yadda yadda yadda).

But we have a great deal in common (as it turns out), and my Dad may well have been right (wonderful man, my Dad) that this guy is a good match.

So what I'm wondering is this: If you've never met someone, and he's in a war zone, how ought you conduct a "relationship," or at least a semi-romantic exchange? Do the rules shift at all? The specific instance is that there are more occasional gaps of several days between his messages. As a general rule, one should not (did I get this right?) send more messages to a man than one receives. Does this rule still apply in this particular situation? I feel I'm in an awkward compromise between trying to be a compassionate stateside perspective provider and a candidate for girlfriend/wife at some future time. So I'm perplexed.

Thanks again!

-E.

Hello, E.-

I definitely respect and admire your compassion for the troops, but no, I don't think the rules shift. You write, he writes, you write, he writes.

Let's pretend you're the one deployed to Iraq: You get a message from a guy you don't know who turns out to be the son of an acquaintance. Intriguing.

You write back. He writes back.

You get sent somewhere where you don't have access to a computer. When you get back, you are immediately sent somewhere else where you don't have access to a computer. In your few spare moments, you roll the contents of your correspondent's last message around in your head. You mentally formulate a response.

You finally get access to a computer. You sit down to write to your new friend, only to discover he's beaten you to the punch. You read his letter, which, while very welcome, requires you to revise the letter you planned to write to him. You send your message. Then you are sent away again.

When you return, you find one...two...three...messages from your new friend. You're still glad to hear from him, but his stock is dropping by the minute.

Do you see what I mean? Clearly, this man knows that you're compassionate toward the troops. If you don't hear from him for a while, there's no need to reassure him of that fact. Write to him only after he writes to you.

Thanks for your very kind words, by the way. I'll keep my fingers crossed for both of you!

-Terry

He's Cheating On Me. What Should I Do About It?

Dear Terry:

How about we women who are married and know our husband is cheating and can't get a divorce due to reasons beyond our control? Are there ways to peak our husbands' interest, become more mysterious, and make him wonder what he is missing?

I vascillate between wanting to be charming around him and being so angry that I want nothing to do with him. I've read How to Get Your Ex Back, but what about when you are still together and not getting what you need from the relationship? There are no consequences for his behavior; therefore, he has no reason to change. I would love to hear your thoughts on this one.

Thanks.

-K.

Thanks for writing, K.-

First off, let me say how sorry I am that you're even in this situation. Nobody deserves to be cheated on.

I don't blame you for vascillating between anger and wanting to charm your husband. Since it's hard to make sense of things when you're in the middle of them, talking to a good friend, therapist, or member of the clergy may help you put things in perspective and come to terms with your very justifiable anger.

I've known several excellent women who've been in your situation. One of them, an extremely attractive, smart, talented, kind, and funny person did all she could to right her relationship. She sought therapy, and because her religion frowns upon divorce, spiritual counseling. In the end, everyone she consulted encouraged her to end her marriage. She didn't have the financial resources at the time, so she made it her goal to prepare for-- and get-- a job that would allow her to shake her husband loose.

She succeeded.

If you decide to try to make your husband realize what he's missing, I guess you'll have to forgive him, which is no small feat (I wouldn't be able to do it myself, but other people can and do).

But if--say, by some act of God-- I managed to forgive the jerk, here's how I'd resuscitate his affection for me:

-I would be smiling, serene, jovial, funny, whenever my husband had the good fortune to be in my presence. Then I'd disappear for a bit, even if it meant running out to the drug store. I would systematically and methodically limit his time with me.

The key is to stop being taken for granted. I'd be unpredictable (without being irresponsible). I would alter my routine.

-I'd immediately replace my underwear. Any white briefs cluttering my drawers would give way to lacy new gear in colors that make me feel great (if I couldn't afford La Perla, I'd hit Target; they've got some lovely stuff).

-I'd buy a few bras that look alluring drying on the shower curtain (and look even better on me). I would absolutely not hop around the place in the new undergarments in an attempt to seduce my husband. I would enjoy wearing them because of the way they make me feel. Let him wonder what I look like in them.

I would, however, leave them on said shower curtain. That should have him thinking of me in flattering terms in no time.

-If I'd given up doing my hair (or getting it cut regularly) or wearing makeup or caring for my hands, I'd take it up again. I'd also slowly rub cream onto my calves, feet, and ankles before bed and let my husband watch. Then I'd roll over and turn off the light.

-Since I do most of the cooking these days, I'd do less of it and let him fend for himself. Since we have children, I'd probably hang around more to chat with other parents after piano, soccer, Religion, church, whatever. I'd also make frequent plans to meet other adults for coffee or to take the kids out for pizza. I'd be be out of the house more than usual.

-If I felt like it, I might leave a note for my husband telling him I wouldn't be too late, but that he should probably help himself to whatever's in the fridge. Then I'd come home looking my best in the prettiest clothes appropriate to the day's activities. (The idea is not to turn myself into eye candy, but to let the man wonder why I'm suddenly looking so good all the time.)

-If I had a job outside the home, I would agree to meet colleagues for drinks spontaneously and often. I would wake up 10 minutes early in the morning and leave the house looking smashing, even if my job involved wearing a vest and a nametag.

-Repeat: I would be smiling, serene, jovial, funny, whenever my husband had the good fortune to be in my presence. Then I'd disappear for a bit, even if it meant running out to the drug store. I would systematically and methodically limit his time with me.

-I would not try to make him jealous, take up with another guy, and so on (that could backfire).

-I would tell the truth on all occasions ("Mary and I are meeting at the bookstore to look around and have a cup of tea," for example) and let him wonder what I was really up to.

-I would never mention his other woman (or women) under any circumstances. I would not call her names or snipe about her. After all, she's irrelevant. He's the problem.

If the guy is capable of giving you what you need in your relationship, these tips could do the trick. I must warn you, though, that he may not be capable. If this turns out to be the case, it's not your fault.

In the end, all you can do is all you can do. You cannot make any relationship work without the consent and participation of the other party. (Read that again: It took me ages to learn it!) Even if you do manage to make your husband "see what he's missing," there's no guarantee he won't revert to his dishonorable ways.

Again, if this happens, it is not your fault.

I hope this helps, and I wish you all the best in everything.

Men Are Polygamous, Women Are Monogamous

By now, you know I don't buy it.

I've known many a faithful guy who had his heart torn out by a faithless woman, and vice versa. Some biologists claim that men are hardwired to look around, if not cheat, while women in relationships are programmed to tuck their eyes back into their heads.

Which is nonsense.

Let's be mature about this: Once you fall in love, other attractive people will tend not to fall off the planet. You will probably notice them some of the time, or all of the time. The trick is to treat your guy the way you'd have him treat you. You don't flirt with other men, ogle other men, carry on about other men, or sleep with them, either.

That said, you should expect the same treatment from your guy. Some women and men insist that men are incapable of fidelity, but Manslator Jeff Mac says otherwise.

I say we listen.

Glistening Needles and Tongues on 'Rock of Love'

I'm still scratching my head over Sunday's Rock of Love (actually, I've worked a hole into my scalp). Just when you think you can no longer be blown away by the absurdity of it, you look out the window to find your patio furniture flying across the yard.

This week's episode featured three of Poison singer Bret Michael's "superfans" (as he calls them) or groupies (as I call them), corralled to determine which of the remaining LSEs (or contestants who suffer from scarily low self-esteem) were worthy of competing to be his concubine.

Bret introduced the superfans to the girls (as he calls them). "This is Amy," he said of SF Number One. "I believe she still sleeps in the first t-shirt I ever threw her."

Bret may be short on hair, but he sure is long on ego.

The superfans started throwing their weight around. One of them warned, "As a rock star's girlfriend, you can't disappoint him in bed." She then ordered an LSE to demonstrate her proficiency at faking orgasms.

The episode only got better when LSE Heather decided to show her commitment to Bret by having his name tattooed onto the back of her neck.

"If Heather actually goes through with this," Brett said, "it would impress the shit out of me."

At the tattoo parlor, Heather lay down her neck, while Bret rhapsodized about the eroticism of submitting one's flesh to the needle. "I've had some of the best sex ever after getting tattoo work done."

Some women would kick a guy in the head for mentioning sex with other women after they'd had his name branded into their necks, but not Heather. Who knows? Maybe her devotion will pay off.

After the deed was done, Bret gushed, "Looking at my name on the back of Heather's neck made me feel close and romantic."

Apparently, not romantic enough. At the end of the show, Bret eliminated this week's reject, an LSE by the name of Sam, who'd been deemed "too sensitive." Heather and the rest of the hopefuls stood shifting uncomfortably while their man consoled Sensitive Sam with his tongue.

One Man's Perspective On Married Women Who Keep Their Names

My father is visiting me for Labor Day weekend. Last night he informed me that he plans to "die broke," as recommended by Stephen Pollan. Then we got to talking about women who don't take their husbands' last names.

"If I were to get married again," he said. "I wouldn't encourage anyone to take my name. What would she want to do that for? She's had one name for 70 years, and she's going to have to fill out all those forms? It just doesn't make sense."

Nice thinking, Dad (but are you trying to tell me something?).

Of course, some women want to fill out all those forms, and that's cool, too.

Are Men Attracted to Women With Gray Hair?

If you were to ask me, I'd say no. But Peter says yes.

In 2002, he and I went to New Orleans (without kiddies) and took a walking tour of the Garden District. Among our group was what I thought was an older woman with striking silver hair and beautiful skin.

"That's what I want to look like when I get old," I told Peter.

"Old? She's not old," he said. "Look at her. She's not even 50."

I sneaked a longer look. No, she probably wasn't even 50, but, boy, she was striking.

Peter's always telling me I should stop coloring my (heh heh) prematurely graying hair. "Be proud," he says.

"I am proud," I tell him. "I just don't want to be invisible"

Interestingly enough, the current issue of More magazine features an article by a woman who performed an experiment to see if men are indeed attracted to women with gray hair.

The author, Anne Kreamer, said she came across a survey that reported, "An overwhelming 86 percent of women and 91 percent of men said they would not date someone with gray hair, preferring instead someone who looks younger."

Kreamer set out to find the truth by posting two photos on Match at separate intervals, first as a brunette, and then with gray hair. Surprisingly, the gray-haired photo pulled considerably more looks and "winks" (a Match term meaning that a looker wants to exchange emails). She retried the experiment several times, targeting different geographic areas, but her findings remained consistent.

Enboldened, she and a friend went out to Pete's Tavern near Gramercy Park in New York (nice place, by the way). She sat down next to an attractive man, sensed interest on his part, and started flirting (turns out he was a 39-year-old electronics specialist with the Merchant Marines).

Eventually, she told him the truth about her experiment and asked his opinion of her gray hair.

"Men just don't care about that," he told her.

As for the rest of this particular issue of More, I liked it. A financial planner at my entrepreneurial group brought a back-issue to our meeting yesterday and recommended we check it out. I'm glad I did. I subscribe to more magazines than I can shake a stick at, but I just may make room for one more.

Strangely enough, I just check the More website, which includes an article about how to color hair. According to the accompanying blurb:

"Blond, brunet, or gray, the perfect shade can trim years off your look. Use these expert tips to find your best color."

Are you confused yet? I am.

Spying On a Guy

A while ago, I addressed the subject of women who routinely check men's cell phones to see if they're talking to other females.

Although a couple of women responded to say they'd done it because their guys had lied to them at some point, I still maintain that it's a bad (and unattractive) idea. Once you catch a person in a lie, you have a pretty good idea who he is, anyway. Surveillance isn't necessary.

Manifesting Mr. Right author Ronnie Ann Ryan has an opinion on this subject (and just about everything else). Read it here.

Envisioning Your Happily Ever After

If you want a happy relationship, it helps to have good role models. But let's face it, in this age of the dueling Lohans (not to mention the 50% divorce rate), they can be hard to come by.

Today's Dear Abby featured letters from two men who've been happily married for many years. Look for the signatures, "Tutu
Kane" and "Gina's Man in Virginia."

Very inspiring.

And at Manslations today, Jeff Mac answers a reader who wants to know what the heck a guy means when he says he's "anti-marriage."

Show Me Your Hits

Of course I tuned in to Rock of Love last night. I'm a fool for the show, if not for its star, Poison lead singer Bret Michaels, who has offered himself as God's gift to a gaggle of women with low self-esteem (henceforth to be known as the LSEs).

Last night's episode had the LSEs separating into teams to come up with the cover art for Bret's forthcoming solo album.

The first team made the mistake of putting forth a photo featuring an LSE dressed up as a dirty old man, which deeply troubled Bret's henchman. "Are you saying Bret's old?" he demanded.

The second team offered a highly original Angel/Devil theme with a brunette LSE clad in a red teddy straddling a blonde in a white teddy. Of course, those clever foxes won the challenge.

"Like the girl-on-girl action," Bret remarked.

You gotta love this dude. He's a real visionary.

The winning team's creative director, a pink-haired LSE with beautiful features, won the top prize: alone time with Bret, whose leathery face is doomed to reincarnate into a Harley Wallet.

"Wear something warm and sexy," Bret advised the poor sucker.

According to VH1, next week "The Girls Take It Off." As if they haven't been taking it off already.