“May I have a key to your restroom?”

I asked this to the Shell clerk one day en route to a run in the park, while clad in Puma jogging tights.

“It’s outside,” he responded. To my vagina.

(“That’s two floors above where you’re at, dear.”)

He didn’t even try to avert his eyes. It was almost like it was deliberate.

Now, while the man in that little IRL anecdote was likely just a function of his culture, the memory itself was all I could think of when I saw this question today on Quora, asking “If women have a problem when men look at their breasts, then why do they wear push up bras?” Because the most upvoted answer kinda sorta hit it on the head. Something to the effect of: “It’s not that we don’t want men to look. It’s the staring at them that’s rude.”

And that’s kinda true, in a way. We do want you to look, generally. Because A.) we like attention and B.) they’re like a simultaneous casting call and panel behind which we sit to judge prospective auditionees for the future role of muffin filler. I mean, sure there are the other reasons chicks do it, I suppose. (“I wear padded cups to cover my torpedo nips/lactation leaks/the next two months before I fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming Caityln…”) But for the most part, I feel like asset accentuation is a sort’ve ambulatory selective advertisement. Like a store on stems. But, much like that snotty shop on Rodeo in “Pretty Women”, we’re only looking for a certain kinda customer. Windowshopping is fine. But don’t think you’re gonna come inside. Not with those shoes. And that shirt. Especially not when your permanent address is still the same one you had when you were five. Unfortunately, though – much like the front a snoboutique window – while we’re only looking for a certain kinda clientele, we can’t advertise that easily. (Actually, that’d make for an excellent line of graphic tees reminiscent of early 2000’s Abercrombie: “No job, no service”… “Only brunettes need apply”) Unlike the shop, though, while we may have a “type” in mind, you can either open our minds or eternally casket-seal it closed by the way you comport yourself. It’s kinda like a Jigsaw-meets-Eden’s-apple test of character. Because making eye contact with the orbs in our skulls versus sternums is always a good start to getting on our good side. (Or ovaries in my case.)

(“Nevermind. I immediately regret this suggestion.”)

So, I rather enjoyed that reply to an answer I could never effectively dredge up myself. ‘cause it’s not even about your torso globes. If I learned nothing else from my pitstop at the gas station that one day, it was exactly that. You can strap down the girls in a uni-boober belt, suffocate your coif under a hat, and rock muddy kicks. Someone’s still bound to bore a second hole in your primary sex organ with their optical ones. Luckily these types who dunno how to honor the two second rule are rarer and easy to weed out from our “people we communicate with like they’re human beings with feelings” list (much less sleep with).

All that said, the answer is yes, men: when your mooseknuckle’s barely covered by thin pants, I’m staring at it.

Because: double standard.

Now, let’s all take a moment to thank god that push up jocks aren’t a thing.