Boobs

Yes sir, I'm a breast man. I make no apologies for the fact I love boobs. And not just for their obvious titillating (no pun intended) properties.

As a baby, I distinctly recall their nutritional qualities—honestly, I did. In fact, there was only a short time during which I wasn't interested in bosoms: ages two until seven, a period of time I like to call the Blessed Time of Knocker Ignorance.

I have intensely studied them, fondled a good many, sometimes in pairs and sometimes singly and sometimes, I have to confess, sneakily; watched more than my share of them in motion, a (if not the) most pleasant aspect of being the proud possessor of eyes.

So it pains me not a little when, like yesterday, I espy a great many owners of these wondrous jiggly implements not taking adequate care of them. Ladies, to quote TLC's What Not To Wear: Lock and Load.

You can't quite imagine the carnage that bad soutien-gorge inflicts, especially in re the better endowed. I can't pretend to understand the downside of owning larger tatas, only the pleasure of watching them at work, but from what I have been made to understand, they can become quite the burden. That, however, is no excuse for allowing the “low hanging fruit” swinging look, nor is it an excuse for the other extreme: the “bullet-proof vest” in which one of the blessed pair points northwest and the other northeast.

Get properly fitted ladies, and do it now, before it's too late.

For those others not so encumbered, count yourself lucky but that doesn't mean there are no pitfalls. While there is lesser need for locking and loading, the effect of not having sufficient support can lead to problems. The Hippy Chick, no bra look is très terrible and a particularly pernicious throwback to the dreadful ’60s. Please, do not let sleeping dogs (puppies?) lie. Once again, lock and load.

At the very least, you'll make at least one breast man (me) happy as he walks the streets of America.

Then, there are those who attempt the Madonna look. All I have to say is, there's a reason it's called underwear, sluts, underwear. Even as a boob man, I don't want to see straps, peeking lace, insufficient cover and other fashion crimes. And as much as it may excite my reptilian brain, certainly no see-throughs, please. Holster those weapons and like their real-life counterparts, the effect is heightened ten-fold when they're produced under the correct circumstances.

Good luck, I'll be watching.

Wait, that sounds creepy. ;-)