Monday, November 22, 2010
By Richard E. Noble
This is really something that I am almost ashamed to admit. Being an active participant and member of the “male” community, I have always been a vociferous and outspoken supporter of “cleavage.” I mean I was weaned into puberty by a Playboy Bunny - although I don’t remember her name ... or her face for that matter.
I mean please, before anyone gets the wrong idea, I drink beer and whiskey, watch all types of sporting events, and have never been one not to laugh at a demeaning, insensitive joke about any type of naked woman. But, all that aside, I’m all cleavaged out.
There was a lady doing the local weather report flashing me cleavage the other night and another on the early morning “Fishing with Bubba” show.
I have seen more cleavage in the last few years than I have ever been privileged to seeing in all of my previous life. And cleavage isn’t just cleavage anymore. I’ve seen young cleavage, old cleavage, golf ball size cleavage, softball size cleavage, upright cleavage, drooping cleavage, wrinkled cleavage, both king and queen sized cleavage and even semi-nippled cleavage. There is top cleavage, bottom cleavage, diamond cleavage, lower cleavage, side cleavage, and last but not least - butt cleavage. That’s right, butt-cleavage. Girls, who have no real cleavage in the traditional area of cleavage responsibility, have turned to exposing their better side. I can hardly believe it. There are seventy year old women not only showing the world, willing and unwilling, their cleavage but presenting themselves nude on grain and automotive calendars. And Diane Sawyer and Barbara Wa-wa are both screaming “you go girl!” Which is feminist for “I think you are a damn fool, but if it makes you happy to embarrass all of us females and womanhood in general, what the hell can I do about it - hee hee hee.”
At first I said, “Oh well, should cute young girls who are obviously proud of their burgeoning womanhood be deprived of their fleeting opportunity to exhibit their cleavage, front, rear or whatever? Gee wizz! What kind of old fuddy-duddy are you?”
Okay so we all get to enjoy “Bouncy’s” cleavage and Jennifer whats-her-name’s cleavage. I even enjoy the interviews where all these little girls with the budding cleavage express their embarrassment of their personal virginity. It is truly inspiring to see on the Tube a partially naked, pre-adult female, in a skintight, shear, flesh colored wrap, with extraordinary cleavage expressing a religious and spiritual desire to maintain her virginity. Is this meant to be a statement or a dare?
I have no doubt that in the opinion, minds and imaginations of a good many of their young, male, religious admirers, this fact of virginity must take a Kierkegaardian “great leap of faith” over the infinite cleavage of both time and space to find a true eternal resting place in the abstract phenomenological void between what really is and what definitely isn’t and what is OMG (“oh my God”) possible.
You know, I realize that there was once a time when even belly buttons had a modest pubertic fascination. You know, is it an inny, an outy, an uppy or a downy. But really, enough is enough!
Young, beautiful “virgin” females now dance regularly in public and without embarrassment in a manner that in previous years I could only be privy to at a five dollar cover charge at the Boom-Boom Room on Common Street or in Boston at Scully Square. Gypsy Rose Lee would be Gypsy Rose “Who” if she were starting out today.
I would say that this is all a matter of male chauvinism except the guy this young girl is dancing with is bouncing up and down wearing a pair of trousers that are so tight that the outline of what was once considered personal and private is purely visible to the plain and un-enhanced naked eye. One could almost hazard a guess as to whether or not this male dancer is Jewish or gentile!
If I were a pornographic film maker, I would make a movie where all the characters are fully clothed and all the scenes of encounter are shot in silhouette and shadows. I’ll bet it would sell a million copies. It would be soooo hot!
If this were a letter to the editor or Dear Abby, I would sign it - Overexposed!