Would You Like Some Clam Chowder with Those Breasts?

Because I own a couple of them, I feel entitled to say it:  I’m tired of seeing women’s breasts.

Low cut, clingy, see through, what-have-you.  Too many articles of women’s clothing feature the exposure of breasts.  And unfortunately, too many women have signed on to these styles because they are the latest fashion (Thankfully there are a few hold-outs; just ask Dear Abby.)

There’s not much I can do to influence fashion trends other than buying from companies that don’t cater to the barest common denominator.  But I do think I have the right to complain when the social focus on women’s cleavage interferes with my lunch.

It was a quiet weekday when my parents were visiting from the Midwest. We stopped at a popular local seafood restaurant near the water to have a leisurely lunch.  The restaurant wasn’t particularly busy, so we took our time ordering and chatting, enjoying the afternoon.  It was my parents’ first visit to town and I was trying to show them the sights and culture.

As we ate and chatted, I couldn’t help but notice the arrival of a couple at the table across the aisle.  The man was tan, buff and wore a leather jacket.  The woman was also tan and was wearing something of the current fashion with her bleached hair.  They were neither young nor old, but they chatted enthusiastically in that way a couple does when they’re on a date. He fawned over her, she over him, and my dad (in his 80-some years) and I couldn’t help but glance repeatedly at their table. It seemed an ideal tableau — a not-quite-middle-aged couple enjoying each other over lunch.  I was almost envious.

Then I noticed the man pull a package out of his bag and hand it across the table to the woman.  It was a gift, brightly colored paper with a pretty ribbon.  Ah, I thought — they must be celebrating something.  Her birthday perhaps?  An anniversary of some sort?  They didn’t sport any obvious wedding jewelry but you can’t assume anything based on the presence or absence of rings.

The woman was enthusiastic as she opened the package.  From the box, she removed a narrow booklet. Chirping happily, she leafed through the booklet while he pointed at different pages and commented on what each held.  Curious, I looked long enough to discern what the booklet was about.  A cruise perhaps, or a weekend away?  All sorts of romantic visions swam in my head.

But as I looked, the images on the pages of the booklet became clear.  This was not a promise of a Caribbean cruise to a romantic island, but a sample of breasts from a plastic surgery clinic that specialized in enhancement. I choked back an incredulous outburst and nodded my head for Dad to size up the situation.  As you might imagine, we spent a good part of the rest of that lunch making wisecracks about the couple: “Gee, which sample d’ya suppose he likes best?” and “Hm. Wonder what she’ll give *him* for their next celebration.”

Geez, do I have to say it?

Ladies:  If the guy you’re with wants to pick out body parts for you, run, run as fast as you can as far away from him as you can get.

And guys (I’d say gentlemen, but I think the gentlemen among us already know this):  It is NEVER appropriate to indicate any sort of dissatisfaction with the breasts of the woman you’re with. They are hers, not yours.