I thought long and hard about posting my last essay. In fact, I’d written it and then let it sit, like a chicken marinating in the fridge. And based upon some of the comments I’ve received, my hesitation about the post was based on a solid foundation. I hesitated to post it because I feared it might sound as if I was plopping an entire marinated chicken on a plate already overflowing with food. The metaphorical plate belonging to a woman, of course. To all women. Because I don’t know one woman whose plate isn’t more than full. And many