I am a grown man. I have lived half a century, hold down what I believe to be a demanding job with substantial responsibility, and dutifully fulfill my obligations to wife, children and dog. So, someone, please tell me why even the mention of the word “breasts” sends me headlong into an immediate frenzy.
Seriously, what is really the big deal? Intellectually, I recognize them for what they are— a secondary female sex characteristic that also nourishes the newly born. But I never think of them that way. Shakespeare asked, “What’s in a name?” I answer him as follows: “Everything.” Think about it. If someone came running into your office all out of breath, huffing and puffing and said: “There’s a woman outside and both her mammary glands are exposed!” you’d look back down at the papers you were shuffling on your desk and not give it a second thought.
But if the same guy walked into your office and calmly, quietly, and without any emotion or inflection, said, “a woman outside is bare-breasted,” you would run down 40 flights of stairs.
It’s amazing how when breasts come to my mind (to the extent they ever, fleetingly, leave my thoughts), it always has a sexual connotation. If my colleague were to say: “Come here and look out the window, the woman across the way is topless,” it would never occur to me that she might be a working mom whose sitter is sick, so she has to bring her infant to work and is getting ready to nurse. No, when I consider the possibility that a woman is bare-breasted, it registers (in a fraction of a second) in my mind as follows:
“Please, Lord, I’m a decent guy. I pay my bills, don’t cheat on my taxes, provide for my family, don’t philander and (usually) don’t put in for petty cash reimbursements expenses I didn’t actually incur. I ask for virtually nothing. When was the last time you heard me complain? I have never had my 15 minutes of fame, and don’t care if you never make it happen for me. So, please—pretty please—with sugar on top, make her pause a moment or two before she puts her shirt back on. Just long enough for me to make it to the window and catch a glimpse.”
The smallest things in life can make us guys so happy. Of course, the bigger things in life can make us happy, too. Big or small, round or tubular, natural or enhanced, there’s something about breasts that do a man good.