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 Alright, so here's the thing. we're going to be talking about boobs. That's right, boobs. So, if you haven't passed the fourth grade, you might want to go back to playing with your legos, or pokemon, or whatever, because shit is about to get real.

 Let me start off by saying this: I. LOVE. Tits. I'm a huge fan... of some of them. A lot of guys, (and girls) are, but that's not the problem. The problem has become dreadfully apparent as the weather here in Philly has turned a balmy shade of seventy something over the past few days, and one can assume summer is starting about next week. the problem is that women don't seem to understand that glancing, gazing, ogling, viewing, being enthralled by, or just admiring their funbags is a matter of biological imperative. It's natural. As natural as some of those knockers are.

 Hooters have been classified as a secondary sex characteristic for quite some time now, but they aren't. There's no correlation between ta-tas and the degree to which the bearer of those joy balloons can aptly perform intercourse. What they are primarily, are feeding devices. Aside from that, headlights are the fastest way for our species to identify the gender of another member. Essentially, it's a matter of "what variant is that hominid? Do I fight it, or fuck it?" The prominence of a woman's mammaries directly affects the way other homo sapiens will behave toward it or in its presence. Period. Both women AND men are going to look at your chest. It's the most broad part of a well proportioned human on either male or female, and therefore, the easiest to see from a distance.

 Now, that being said, I find it ridiculous that some women will emblazon their breasts with wildly colorful tattoos, strap them in good and tight to their rib cage with a shoelace, aim them directly at the male of the species, and become offended when that male casts his eyes toward the dancing areolae. If a peacock doesn't want to be looked at, he won't put his tail feathers in the air, shake and bounce it vigorously at others, and strut around. Why? Because that's a guaranteed eye-catcher. The same can be said for ladies bouncing around in those tight, plunging necklines with giant bullseyes inked to their melons. If you wave at us with them, we're going to look at them. That's just the way it is. We detect movement, we zero in on the movement, we identify the source of the movement. We do this with our eyes because light travels at 186,000 miles per second, and sight is the fastest way to identify whether you are a threat or not.

 I WILL ADMIT that there ARE guys out there who haven't evolved to the point of adept social interaction, and with let their gaze rest upon a lady's rack a bit too long. However, this does not mean instantly that they are viewing you as a piece of meat. Sometimes we stare in amazement. Sometimes we stare in horror, and sometimes we stare because we're trying to decipher the tattoo you have scrolled across your cleavage (typically a baby or baby daddy name, it seems). We're not always undressing you, and we aren't even necessarily interested in seeing the rest of your tit. As a matter of fact, sometimes, we really wish you'd cover it up.

 Just think about this: If a guy is walking around in a tight shirt, is good looking, and wearing ball huggers. Do you think he wants you to look at him? The safe assumption is yes. None of the characteristics that distinguish males from females are as prominent as boobs. I'm sorry, ladies, but it's just a fact of being human. We're not rats. If we were rats, it'd be different. A male rat has gihugic balls. the female doesn't. When a male needs to know what gender he's being approached by, he looks for gargantuan nuts. No nuts = don't kill it. it's the same with us humans, it's just that the massive gender marker is different.