The Ups and Downs of Cleavage
If you can get past today’s fog, you’ll recall we had one of those beautiful, balmy summer weekends in the city. It was finally hot, and everyone was out in their summer garb: flips flops, shorts, sundresses, and for better or worse cleavage was out in force everywhere.
A bunch of us were sitting outside having our morning coffee on Saturday catching up on the week’s antics. The guys were doing their best to carry on the conversation, but their Wimbledon-paced head-turning was making it challenging.
Mimi, 36 and single, finally had enough, “You know what pisses me off is when you’re talking to a guy and he can’t even finish a sentence because he’s too busy checking out the girls and saying, ‘Hey, she’s hot. What about her?’ It’s so rude!”
The debate began as it often does on our bench. Is it rude, do we care if guys check out other women?
Beth, 33, said she liked it because it made her feel sexy. It was a turn-on that her boyfriend was checking out sexy chicks because she knew she was the one going home with him.
Then it occurred to me: We’re just not used to so much skin in San Francisco; we’re starved for sexy hot summer days and the skin that goes along with it.
After you live here for a while, you learn to accept that summer isn’t the beachy barbeque ordeal that it is most everywhere else. And in Los Angeles, not only is there ample skin and cleavage, but it’s bigger and bustier (albeit fake) cleavage.
Carl, single and 40, said, “Well, I’m not a boob guy, but good cleavage—hey, you can’t help but look; it’s instinctual, visceral. Even gay guys check out nice cleavage.”
I was rushing to an interview later in the day. It was still sunny and hot, and I was happy I could finally wear my favorite summer dress. I was about to get out of my car to pump some gas on Market Street when a homeless guy smiled and tapped on my car window. So I grabbed some change and handed it to him. He looked at me, smiled and said, “Thanks, pretty lady, but I just really wanted to see your cleavage."
It was kind of creepy, but hey, sunny weekends are rare, so being interrupted by a guy admiring my boobs is a small price to pay.
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