Originally published by the Philadelphia Daily News, April 12, 2004

Dough Re Me

A defense of Sharon Stone

By Jennifer Graham

I’ve been waiting for a couple of weeks now for someone to defend Sharon Stone, but I now realize that it’s like taking out the trash: If you wait for someone else to do it, the unpleasant task will never get done.

The lovely and talented Ms. Stone was apparently trashed recently by Joe Eszterhas, whose autobiography, “Hollywood Animal,” reminds us of another Hollywood book, “You’ll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again.”

I say “apparently” because I have not actually read it. The book is enormously popular, and I am fifth on the waiting list at the public library.

But I’ve read enough reviews to know that Eszterhas had a one-night stand with Sharon Stone, and he thought her body was “doughy.”

Oh, my dear Joe: You’re never laying a hand on me.

Now, we’re not talking about some teenage tryst here, when Stone might have had some remnants of baby fat before bursting, open legged, on the national scene. They slept together after she was a bona fide movie star, and last I checked, the descriptive “doughy” disqualifies you for that line of work quicker than “George W. Bush supporter” disqualifies you for an Oscar.

So, I’ve been sitting here patiently waiting for the outrage. This was not an attack on Sharon Stone, who CLEARLY is not doughy, at least not in America, land of the free, home of the brave and 99-cent Cheetos for all.

This was an attack on all American women. Sisters, we are all doughy now.

Now, I understand the reluctance to come to the aid of a thrice-married, blonde, blue-eyed glamour queen whose chief purpose in filmmaking appears to be to be to titillate our husbands and make us feel badly about our thighs.

It is also troubling that almost every article about Stone mentions that her IQ is 154 and she belongs to MENSA.

I have nothing against smart people, just smart people who feel the need to tell me about it, and it makes me wonder how the subject even comes up. I know my I.Q., or at least what it was when I was tested at the age of 9, but my husband doesn’t know, nor my best friend, and I doubt that even my mother remembers.

So, for those of us who consider self-deprecation a winsome personal quality, Stone loses a few Brownie points.

But if we could, just for a few minutes, look past her brains and beauty, there’s plenty to like. For instance, you will never convince me that Stone, I.Q. 154, didn’t deliberately arrange that vicious lizard attack on her third ex-husband, Phil Bronstein. Oh, sure, they were still together at the time, but the marriage must have been deteriorating by then, and Bronstein should have been just a tad suspicious when she said, in that sexy voice of hers, “Oh, honey, it’s so cute! Why don’t you get a little closer?”

It was a birthday gift straight out of “War of the Roses.”

Also, it’s Stone who gave us the memorable quote, “Women might be able to fake orgasms, but men can fake whole relationships.” You gotta love her for that.

Then, there’s also the Eszterhas factor. I want to like the guy, I really do. He’s repented his cheatin’ past and taken to swilling carrot juice, and he was tough on Bill Clinton, and he’s seen “The Passion of the Christ” three times, maybe more by now.

Heck, he’s even moved to Ohio.

But you look at him, and it’s just so unfair, that HE could sleep with Sharon Stone, even if it only was for one night. There is no better illustration of ye old double standard, that someone who looks like a werewolf gets to sleep with someone who looks like Sharon Stone. And then has the nerve to diss her.

So, although Sharon Stone, she of the fabulous looks and even more fabulous bank account, may not be up all night worrying about the Eszterhas’ review, I’m pleased to come to her defense. As a 40-something woman who has borne four children, I KNOW doughy. She ain’t it.