My daughters are nasty women. And I’m proud of them.

Nasty, as an attribute, is not the same as mean behavior. They’re not mean, but if you cross them, they will kick your ass and remove your name from their house of goodwill.

They’d prefer you not be a jackass or a gossiping pile of dung. These women, in their 20’s, are not weak. They’ll “tell-off” rude taxi drivers and they’re good with pepper spray. Nastiness does not preclude occasional vulnerability or weakness, but that’s not their normal state.

For the record, here’s what I know about nasty women: they’re intelligent and acute critics of life and society; they’re people of strength and tenderness, capable of simultaneously holding antitheses strongly marked. Both of them can run for miles, lift weights or sew the most delicate stitch into pattern or time. They easily identify bear scat in the woods and can haul and stack wood for hours. When they put their minds to a goal, they will work to the bone to achieve it

They’re kind and grounded, capable of measured judgment and unending forgiveness. These women are nasty – I guess.

Go for it if you want to label them.

I’m their pop and I admire and love them. I’m impressed as they stand on their own and exert their strong will day after day in the struggle. I praise their rejection of over-responsibility, saying no to taking care of more than necessary. They do not coddle or cotton to the patriarchal curse of holding their tongue, and though it’s hard, they refuse to let the economic meat grinder chew them up.

WARNING: If you disrespect, they will throw your shit back in your face. That’s not nasty; rather, that’s a masterly application of rhetoric and human rights. And if you think your junk is golden, and that your gender allows you free roam and grope, I’ve got news for you. I hope you run into my daughters and get your just due. You see below, these are pictures of the new woman which is the nasty woman: strong, self-assured, independent yet capable of leadership and relationship.

The times are a changin’ and it’s about time.

And on behalf of my daughters, if you can’t handle the truth let me borrow and reframe some Hamlet, originally intended as psychological warfare by an entitled male against a confused woman. If you can’t handle the truth about the new nasty woman, then dude, get thee to a fuckin’ nunnery.

If barrister-speak – that is, putting it back in your face – and obsenity offends you, label it nasty, but recognize the Red Herring of language for what it is.

Ignore the pseudo obscene and open your eyes to the real obsenity . . . dispossession, dismissal, and psychological warfare by the “haves” against the “have-nots.”

My daughters are nasty women. And I’m proud of them.