This is cracking me up. My breasts have varied from a b-ish to dd-and-beyond. I dress pretty modestly and no matter what size they were, men look.
If it’s any consolation, I bought a glittery shirt that said “warning: I had a bowl of cranky for breakfast.” No one is more fascinated with it than my 6 month old daughter. I tend to think of guys noticing my boobs rather like a crow gathering shiny bits of tinsel for their nests. It’s what they do.
I, too believe that if you sprinkle glitter on it, expect it to be noticed. To get offended is offensive. Then again, the creepy old guy that continuously asked me if I was going to breastfeed, EWWWWWW! (Yes, fwiw, that does explain some of the size variation)
Look all you want guys, no touchy though. And don’t be squicky about it. Oh, and when we walk away, don’t be a sleezebag.
We have a cocktail waitress that is just stunning. A truly nice girl too. Hardworking, heart of gold, and ohmygod is she stunning. They had special uniforms rented for St. Patty’s day and she was lamenting to me how short the shorts were (see? butt turned up towards me) and the tops were so low (chest all aglitter towards me) I’m a girl, but gee could I appreciate the view, I said to her, do you know how many men in this room would kill to be having this conversation with you? I immediately realized that I was in the right place at the right time. This was last year, and I still remember that interaction fondly.
Well, my thread-killing skillz are indeed mad, but even they can be bested at times.
The post that I quoted had a fairly old, well-known joke from back in the day when we used to bash men without a thought for the inappropriateness of it.
Sometimes I have no idea what the rules are supposed to be anymore. I was raised in an environment where indiscreet ogling was generally regarded as a distinct faux pas, and I still harbor much of this social baggage even though the culture seems to be transitioning away from this paradigm to a certain extent. I blame the malls. I remember when it seemed like malls were made up mostly of shoe stores. These days, however, the shoe stores appear to be increasingly eclipsed by female scanty wear concessions. I’m not saying that the shoe stores were preferable by any means, mind. It’s just that as the scanty wear gets scantier, it becomes more and more difficult to estimate exactly how much attention a woman is actively trying to solicit via her attire. I spend a lot of time at the mall pondering this problem.
So the other day I’m at the mall, and this young woman walks by, and she seems to be just the sort of young woman that these stores are targeting. She’s really cute, and she’s got the scanty wear on-- whatever that stretchy material is that they make those tube tops out of. Any hoo, she’s nicely stretching out the fabric, and it’s pink fabric, and it’s got sparkly stuff on it, so you can detect the jiggling and stretching even in low-light conditions. And on the front of this pink sparkly stretchy tube top is a picture of a provocatively posed Marilyn Monroe.
Let me reiterate: this extremely attractive, well-endowed woman was decorating her ample bosomal region with a picture of *another well-endowed woman *. A pink sparkly stretchy picture. This is simply unfair. It’s overkill. You’ve crossed the line, pink stretchy woman. You’re just making fun of my baser instincts now. You don’t know me; I don’t know you, yet here you are, cruelly attacking my eyes with your sparkling stretchiness. Honestly, you need to go home and think about whether you really want me to be staring at your torso, because you’ve quite frankly left me with no other choice in the matter.
Or, to quote Crow T. Robot: * “All right; you know what? I’m just giving in, and looking at the breasts.”*