What is with the guys who can’t look you in the face because their eyes are glued to your breasts?
Or worse — what is with guys who do the darting thing, where their eyes bounce up and down like ping pong balls while they’re talking to you because they’re trying to sneak a look at your boobs (which are nothing but clothing-clad mounds of fat, by the way. Imagine a stick of butter wearing a t-shirt. Same difference). Seriously, guys like that give me vertigo.
Hey, buddy, my brain is up here!
I understand that plenty of people have trouble making eye contact. I am one of those people. Much like a turkey, I would rather look straight up and drown in a rainstorm than make eye contact with a stranger.
But there are other places to look than my mammaries. I’m a big fan of inspecting my cuticles. Or even just looking the hell around. Surely you can find something nearby in which to feign interest.
But it’s like boobs are Velcro. You can practically hear the ripping sound when a guy finally looks up.
I don’t stare at your crotch (unless you’re Jim Morrison wearing leather pants, in which case I’ll make an exception). So why can’t guys control where their eyes are pointed and look us in the face? It’s bizarre.
And these are older guys —one presumes they’ve touched a tit. Is the experience so scintillating that you can’t hold a conversation with a woman about plumbing without a voice in your mind whispering boooooooobs the entire time?
As the owner of breasts, maybe I’m just blasé. And I have to admit, if you’ve got the girls half out of the bag like an exploded tube of biscuits, I’m probably going to look.
I’m pretty pansectional anyway, but I think it’s fair to say that anybody’s eyes are going to drift when the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Girls are on display.
I mean, you can call it something fancy like décolletage, but where I come from we just call it nekked.
What would be the male equivalent of décolletage, when you walk around with just one nut hanging out? Déballetage?
Turn around is fair play, so if this becomes a trend, I’ve got nobody to blame but myself.
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