I wasn’t too upset when men went all metrosexual and got in touch with their feminine sides.

No right-minded woman is going to turn away a man who smells nice and wears clean shirts, which, she can only hope, are qualities that extend to his undergarments. And it’s always nice to be able to gaze up at your man and see past the nose hair to his eyes.

Even men using lotions and cream rinses didn’t seem so bad, though I was starting to get nervous when so many guys began getting their hair highlighted.

It seemed a little competitive, if you ask me.

I managed not to fret when I saw men who could beat me in a Miss Maid of Cotton pageant, calmly reminding myself that, while they may be prettier, they’re still prone to scratching their nether regions in public and beginning conversations with, “Pull my finger.”

Now, just when I thought men had gotten tired of playing dress up, when I could walk down the street holding my head high without fearing some porcelain-skinned, Titanic-era Leo DiCaprio might walk past and show me up, some goober goes and invents male makeup.

I’m not talking Johnny-Depp-as-a-pirate makeup; I’m talking everyday makeup geared toward your average soccer dad. Some products include Manscara and Guyliner, names as adorable as the men who wear them.

And — you know I never kid you — several online businesses are selling male pantyhose and tights. Men have even formed a group called e-MANcipate in support of male hosiery, whose Web site at www.e-mancipate.net includes this headline: “Truck driver tells of wearing pantyhose during long trips.”

It’s times like these when I say to myself, “Self, you are looking mighty cute today.”

After a thank you and a brief discussion of where I bought my blouse, I get back on subject and say to myself: “Men must be nuttier than Aunt Ella Dean’s fruitcake and twice as rum-soaked.”

What clear-thinking man would choose to wear makeup and pantyhose?

Everyone knows these were forms of torture created by men to keep women subservient.

Cro-Magnon Man knew his woman couldn’t easily escape the cave, whose floor by the way was strewn with his dirty loincloths, if she were wearing control tops, especially when they got all tangled up in her leg fur.

And Medieval men knew women couldn’t rise up in battle if they had to keep checking their lip gloss in the armor of the knight standing next to them.

The only reason women are still tied to these age-old conventions is because no woman wants to be the first to arrive at the church social or Bunko night with bare-naked eyebrows and legs pale enough to make the children cry.