Why Can't Men Stop Staring At Our Boobs?

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 and glandular tissue, 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.

Yes, I know, men are "programmed" to look at breasts. Humans in general are also "progammed" to eat animals that are lower on the food chain. And yet, somehow, many, many people do not eat animals.

Therefore, it's possible to overcome our "programming". We don't have to be slaves to our hormones, although men use this as an excuse for all kinds of behavior, from rape, to domestic violence, to murder. They "just couldn't help themselves."

Or worse, they blame the victim. That is, the possessor of the boobs who dressed a certain way, or went out alone after dark, or somehow invited the violence through their behavior.

I've heard many, many, many comments along the lines of, "If you don't want us to stare at them, then don't flaunt them."

Unfortunately, my point is that I do not "flaunt them." In fact, I've never shown cleavage in my life, if I even could.

And yet, there are the eyes, pointed at my chest as if they have x-ray vision and can see through my baggy sweatshirt.

Sexy, I know.

And yes, many, many men do not stare at our boobs. But those that do are basically breast junkies who need an intervention. Maybe there could be a group, like Alcoholics Anonymous.

Booby Gazers Anonymous.

Look, 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 pansexual 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.