My nails dug into my palms as I sat on the wooden bench in church.  My nerves were jangling.  Any minute the preacher was going to introduce me, and I was going to have to sing 4 songs, straight through, and the 3rd one was really difficult.
And what was it all really for?
A huge gas bubble suddenly buckled under my left ribs and worked downward.  Great.  A life ruining fart was all I needed to worry about too.
And why again was I putting myself through all of this?  What was the purpose?
Just 2 weeks before I had been practicing intricate voice trills and maneuvers, perfecting my voice control with determination that I was going to make it my life's work.  There was a talent search from a radio station out of Cincinnati to be held in a large gym.  We could win it...I knew we could.
And we did. Or we did, but got robbed.  Our voices had echoed in perfect harmony over the silent crowd, the stage lights reflecting tears in so many women's eyes.  Near the end, I scanned the judge line to see the effect.  The first had his eyes closed, which was good.  The second had a bittersweet look, which was better.  But the third had been staring at me, eyes narrowed, looking at my...knees?  No...scanning slowly upward..up my body, and he looked...angry. 
We finished the last song and the applause had spread out across the gymnasium.  I put the third judge's strange facial expression out of my mind.
The scores came in, out of 36 acts, we came in 4th, but the 3rd judge had given us 4 out of 10 on appearance and had taken the unprecedented action of writing in the margins " improper tight dresses red in color not appropriate for church!"
We had LOST the recording contract because that geezer's dick had become hard, and he blamed US that we aroused his desire.  Those dresses were uncomfortable and hot, long sleeved and thick cotton, but I guess because we had nice lithe bodies, we were punished and robbed of the opportunity.

So from time to time I started feeling a little indignant in church, towards older men, when they would preach to me about how I should never ever tempt boys with my beauty, and how I should hide my body, and how I should keep myself pure, and then finally surrender my virginity to one man, and then he should be my one and only lover forever until the end of my life.  And that even then, it was a sin for me to deny my husband sex, because MY body was his.
I would sit in church and think " No, No, No!!!!! That is Rape! I should always be able to say No!"

It occurs to me now, as a grown woman, that even though I've lived a rather charmed life with less injustice than what many women have suffered, I can understand the anger from feminists.

I laughed at Louis C.K. the other day. quipping about how white men are the only people on earth who can operate a time machine, because they can get in it and punch in any time in history and get out and the guy standing there to greet them will be like " Hello Sir! Welcome! Let Me show you to your table!"
While a black guy would say " Uh...don't dial it back past 1865. No! Hell, make that 1965!"
And women would say " Well there are a couple decent years in the 80s....hmm, does it get any better in the future?" 

So men should probably keep in mind, it's really easy for you to grumble about how you don't understand why others are so upset about issues of inequality and injustice, when YOU'RE the one who has never been the one on the short end of the stick.