Men need to grow up!
Yeah, I said it. And I don't mean in the "You're how old and still playing those damn video games while I'm over here in my new lace, tiger-print, Frederick's of Hollywood lingerie?" kind of way. I don't even mean it in the "They're only shoes; who cares that he stepped on them and didn't say sorry?" kind of way. I mean it in the Al Bundy drooling over the centerfold of the Jugs magazine kind of way.
Now, don't get me wrong; I am truly a fan of the female physique. Along with The Pyramids and Machu Picchu, the feminine form is one of God's most amazing creations. Poets and sculptors have crafted masterpieces from its inspiration. Amazing lyricists like Carl Carlton, "Her body measurements are perfect in every dimension~She's got a figure that's sho' 'nuff gettin' attention~She's poetry in motion, a beautiful sight to see~I get so excited viewin' her anatomy," and Sisqo: "She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck~Thighs like what, what, what~Baby move your butt, butt, butt," couldn't help but pen classics in honor of a woman's body.
And I understand that. But I don't understand what drives men to the point of losing their damn minds over the mere prospect of seeing ass and titties.
When I was young, I used to sneak under my uncle's water bed mattress to find a deluge of dirty magazines. It was a preteen's paradise. The mere sight of naked breasts was enough to work my burgeoning libido into a frenzy. Every chance I got, I would sneak a magazine out of the house to share with neighborhood friends. You would then find 5 or 6 googly-eyed adolescents smiling wildly as they stared at things our young minds could only imagine of experiencing first-hand.
But we were kids. We had nearly the same reaction when my friend Jarvis showed us his new G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu grip.
Why do grown ass men have the exact same reactions when it comes to strip clubs? I don't get it. Friends have tried to explain the merits. Some even talk about the great food many establishments serve. Maybe it's my aversion to germs. Maybe it's my ego. But I have never been a big fan of paying for a sweaty stranger to invade my personal space.
I was recently a groomsman in one of my really good friend's wedding. As is customary, the Best Man did his due diligence of organizing the bachelor party. To the delight of almost everyone invited, the itinerary basically consisted of strippers, dinner, and more strippers. (I hope my boy's new wife doesn't read this.) Almost to a man, everyone was happier than a rooster in a hen house when talking about the dancers. They were even willing to forsake a good meal just to see naked women. They reminded me of that huddled corner of kids I used to be a part of.
I'm not knocking a person's desire to view the physical form, or to toss money into the vicinity of the hard-working women. And if you're helping someone get the school, keep their lights on, or pay for their panther paw tattoo, isn't it all worth it in the end?
I just question some of the personal lives of those who go crazy at the thought of seeing naked women. Come on, man; you're an adult. Behave like one. Save all of your drooling and panting for the privacy of your own home...in front of your own computer screen...watching whatever porn site you choose.