The world is a perplexing place to live in, as more intelligent people than me (which is about all of the rest of the world's population) have found. For men, the world of women is not merely perplexing, it is downright beyond comprehension.
Since times immemorial, men have clearly indicated their fascination with the fact that the chests of women are shaped differently from those of men. By now, of course, one would have expected that this quirk of the male personality would be taken for granted and ignored, much like you do not gasp in surprise and exclaim, "Wow! The sun rises in the East" every single morning. Not so! Centuries have passed and women still find it a cause for amazement and amusement.
Not that they seem entirely oblivious of the fact. It may be that the best uplifters of the downtrodden, enhancers of the seemingly inadequate including even injections of the sealants are all meant specifically to ensure that that men do NOT take notice of the chest area and concentrate their eyes on the horizon. It is quite possible that those plunging necklines are in use precisely to highlight what men are NOT supposed to see at all. It is quite possible that it is all to ensure that they appear great to their fellow-women but my brain (I assure you that it still resides in my skull and has not slipped down to the place between my legs) refuses to see it that way.
A visit to a beauty parlor is, apparently, the feminine equivalent of a foretaste of Hell. Waxing the legs, I hear, leaves them with no reason to fear whatever Satan may do to them, having experienced the worst that he can throw at them. And, yes, they put themselves through all these tortures so that men can studiously ignore their legs and concentrate on the poetry of Shelley. I believe you - or, I am trying to! Like I also try to believe that men build six-packs and wax their chests merely to feel good about themselves and to impress other men. Like I try to believe that, if Homo Sapiens were a hermaphroditic species, there would still be a cosmetic industry and a fashion industry doing roaring business.
Since puberty, I had somehow got this mistaken impression that all this was meant to be appreciated by men, as well. Hey! Lady! Before you start on my effigy, let me explain. I do NOT mean the appreciation which expresses itself by a touchy-feely physical appraisal of the assets. I am not here to take the cudgels up on behalf of those men who seem to be under the misapprehension that the female face is situated in the region of her chest and try to make eye-contact by focusing on that area. Nor do I have sympathy for the man who prefers his communication with a woman ONLY three hand spans below her mouth OR for he who feels that such communication is solely his prerogative and the woman has no say in it. These are boors or criminals or both, and I have no intent to be counted among their ranks. And, most certainly, I do not think that women, who beautify themselves, are actively inviting the attentions of all these chaps. So, stop imagining me with a turban, paan in my mouth and a tendency to spouting, "Humari sanskriti mein...".
My problem lies with the fact that the rest of us, who do appreciate your beauty but only as being a part of you and NOT the whole of you, are being assumed to belong to one of those categories, if not to all of them. So, you do know what we are likely to be looking at when we give you a passing glance and, yet, you feel that it is risible if not exactly uncouth. AND, simultaneously, you also laud the rebirth of female sexuality! Have a heart! At least for the heterosexuals, female sexuality would be meaningless without sexual interest being alive in males - and you know where male sexual interest centers (And, puhleeze! Do not tell me that you really believe that a good man would be rendered blind to the attractions of other women once he falls in love with and/or marries one woman). If it makes it any better for you, we too do not know WHY we get aroused by certain parts of your anatomy compared to others, but there it is - we do and that's why we gaze, more by knee-jerk instinct than conscious thought. (The same sort of instinct, perhaps, that purportedly makes success more attractive to women than character?)
Yeah, I know! Your problem is only when we gaze 'too long' and therein used to lie the nub of my problem. How long is too long? My experience, hitherto, has been that the answer depends on how handsome (or rich or famous, depending upon tastes) a hunk is doing the gazing. It is Relativity at work - if it is Quasimodo, a nano-second is too long whereas if it is George Clooney....
NOW you know why I had a problem. I was and am a Quasimodo, without the hunch in the back.
P.S : This was inspired by Purba's post but NOT meant as a rebuttal since I think she has said both point and counter-point, leaving no room for rebuttal :)