Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones . . .

Last month, a famous actress who might sprout snakes in place of hair if she gets any angrier, told a magazine interviewer that she hates the word feminist.

Said Roseanne, the actress in question: “I prefer killer bitch.”

Boy does she have a chip on her shoulder, I thought. But the more I muse, the more sense Roseanne’s offhand remark seems to make. Roll it around on your tongue and the sensation is kind of pleasing, kind of illicit: “My name is Robin and I’m a killer bitch.” A little more potent than feminist .

But the philosophy is the same: KBs believe that women are the political, professional and personal equals of men, and that they should be treated as such in the corridors of power, the workplace and the home. If this puts us in league with Satan and Gloria Steinem, well, then, hello Equal Rights Amendment, goodby eternal soul.

Bitch --the insult--has captured our imaginations for a couple of weeks now, ever since Kathleen Gingrich admitted to Connie Chung that her son, Newt, thinks poorly of Hillary Clinton.

In the ensuing debate, all sorts of important questions have been raised. By calling the First Lady a bitch, did Mrs. Gingrich hurl:

A) The single most horrific insult that can be aimed at a woman?

B) A moderately nasty, but by no means unusual observation about a controversial and powerful woman?

C) God’s honest truth?

I vote for B and C, and would like to offer the First Lady an honorary membership in Killer Bitches of America, a group I hope to found just as soon as I finish screaming at my husband for bringing home iceberg instead of romaine yet again and biting the head off the next man who opens a door for me.

I also plan to extend the invitation to Kathleen Gingrich. In fact, I may make her honorary president of the group--Queen Killer B or maybe Supreme High Commander of All Killer Bs. I haven’t decided. But she should be rewarded for her role as catalyst. Just as Joycelyn Elders initiated a national teach-in on masturbation, Gingrich’s indiscretion has prompted an unprecedented national conversation about etymology, semantics and invective. Gingrich’s whispered confession got people talking about code words, sexism and the price that accomplished, outspoken women pay for their success in a world dominated by men.

Would I prefer not to hear Hillary Clinton called a bitch by the mother of the Speaker of the House? Sure. But I am much more interested in the serious problems women face, especially since our “year” has come and gone.

Women continue to be seriously underrepresented in Congress, underpaid compared to men and discriminated against on the job. Women are also told how good they have it, how the playing field is finally level, and how their insistence against mistreatment in the workplace now makes employers afraid to hire them for fear of being slapped with spurious sexual harassment suits. One segment of the female population--poor single mothers--is coming under increasing attack as a scourge on society by politicians looking for easy answers to complex social issues. These are the things that worry me far more than name calling.

Anyway, this discussion about the “B-word” is a variation on a shopworn theme. For years, we have discussed the relationship between semantics and sexism--as in “Men are firm; women are rigid.” “Men are authoritative; women are vindictive.” Blah, blah, blah.

We get it. Point’s been made. Let’s try something new.

Why not embrace the “B-word,” as Roseanne suggests? Let’s make it our own. As any toddler can tell you, with enough repetition, you can suck the meaning right out of a word and give it a new one.

Bitch is not one of the most horrible words in the English language. People use it all the time. Sometimes it’s descriptive; sometimes it’s offensive. If my friend calls me a bitch in jest after I make a catty remark about someone, I smile. If I walk past a souvenir shop at the beach and see “Shut Up Stupid Bitch” emblazoned on a T-shirt, I recoil. Context is everything.

Bitch is not the worst thing a woman can be called. I would rather be called a bitch a thousand times over than a lousy mother once.

The notion floating out there in media land that there is no male equivalent for the hideous female “B-word” is false. In an essay last week in Time, Margaret Carlson writes, “There is no equivalent epithet about men. Bastard and son-of-a-bitch have less sting, in part because society expects--and rewards--toughness in men. The only comparable insult to hurl at a man is to question his manliness. The charge George Bush resented the most was being called ‘wimp.’ ”

Maybe.

But I can also think of at least one male-specific word that carries just as great a derogatory whomp as bitch . It’s such an awful slur we can’t even print it. To convey it, I am forced to resort to Barbara Bush-like false modesty: The word rhymes with brick .

Some people use it with the modifier “with ears.”

Not me, of course. Well, not very often.

Oh all right. . . . Just between you and me?

* Robin Abcarian’s column is published Wednesdays and Sundays.

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