Solving a Great Mystery of the Ages

I’ve dropped a little weight lately (and by that I mean that I changed from the 20 pound to the 10 pound bar during PowerFlex) and it seems to have improved my intellect. In fact, during the mind-body section, I solved one of the great mysteries of life: male fascination with breasts. (I apologize in advance for this entire entry, but, alas, I am rude and insensitive. If you are male and easily offended, I suggest you stop reading immediately.)

My brilliant, diagnostic mind presented me with the answer in the memory of a conversation with my behavioral psychologist brother. He is amazing and full of interesting facts. One highly illustrative fact came in a conversation regarding cultural phobias. In one culture, a relatively common male phobia (meaning 1 man in 2 billion) involves the fear that if he becomes overly excited, his penis may withdraw rapidly into his abdomen, puncturing internal organs and killing him. I do not make light of this fear, but have often wondered what created it. Another of my conversations with my brother included the comment that phobias are generally related to dangers faced by the species. For example, spiders can kill people, so they are a common phobia. However, grass is usually benign, so a phobia of grass is not considered common.

So it seems to my trap-like mind, that the penis actually had to impale someone for this to become a phobia. Imagine that shock. One minute, Mr. Rough Luck is checking out the local hottie and the next moment, he is an obituary.

The important and stereotypical piece of this story is that ALL men (wink, wink) are incapable of expressing their emotions in healthy ways, thus avoiding the many hang-ups that ALL men (wink, wink) have. So, Mr. Rough Luck’s unfortunate event is witnessed by his friend, Chuck, who becomes haunted by the memory of MRL’s last words (I’ll let you figure out what they were). One drunken night, he tells the story to Dave who in horrified, drunken shock shares it with Jake who blabs about it to Ronnie, who is known to be a bit easily freaked out and now you have an entire culture with a strange shared phobia.

As I lay on my back in corpse pose, thinking of poor Mr. Rough Luck, I realized that this is why men feel the need to check in on themselves with shocking frequency. I have to admit that if there was a possibility that my erogenous zones were going to turn against me, I would try to keep watch on them. So, men (wink, wink) like to assess their functioning frequently – can you blame them?

This reasoning led me to wonder if the same idea could be applied to the male fascination with breasts. Suppose during the drunken discussion between Chuck, Dave, Jake, and Ronnie there was an additional moment of human concern for women. If sexual excitement could be so dangerous for men, they may have wondered, could it equally affect women? It was obvious that female genitals could not be the problem. However, women have TWO extensions right near their hearts! What if breasts suddenly turned to stone and crushed the women to death?

I am certain that this question plagued Chuck, Dave and Jake for a long time (Ronnie was still too busy freaking out about his member killing him). Finally, they realized that the only way to save their women was to keep a constant eye on the dangerous appendages sitting over their breastplate, and, to be REALLY certain that the women were safe, they would have to perform regular physical examinations as well. Perhaps they could even design a piece of clothing to sustain the breasts well above the danger zone, a garment that would create lovely ridges to improve the beauty of the community.

They shared their ideas in that usual guy way. Here is a snippet of actual conversation during whatever sport the men played back then:

“So, dude, women’s breasts.”

“What of them?”

“Watch ‘em, man. Just watch ‘em.”

That’s how it happened. Now generations have passed and while men may not be aware of why they feel the constant need to touch themselves and examine every set of breasts, it really relates to an inner protectiveness. Sweet, really, once you understand the history.

So, the next time some guy notices the nearly imperceptible stain on the underside of the left breast or grabs you on the subway, just remember how much he cares and try not to wish that his appendage will withdraw rapidly into his abdomen. It was really cruel of whoever once told those poor guys that was possible.