We try not to talk to your front, honest …

There is a rather amusing observation in a report on This is London (the London Evening Standard’s website) in a brief article about an ongoing case at the Old Bailey:

A Lord Chancellor’s official accused of raping a senior civil servant was the sort of man who “talked to your tits,” his alleged victim told the Old Bailey this afternoon. The 38-year-old woman said bachelor Michael Burrell was the sort of man who existed in every office. She said Burrell used to hang around her office and he became the butt of office gossip. “When you think they are talking to you, they are talking to your tits, and he was that kind of man,” she said.

Rape, of course, never is funny. But the bit about men talking to the “front” of women in the office is, as is the bit about such men existing in every office.

The fact is that there are women in pretty much every large office who are not as squeamish about exposing their fronts as this newspaper was about talking about them (they used asterisks in place of the middle two letters; I removed them for the benefit of my visually-impaired readership). Why is it that some women have no idea about respecting the boundaries of male fellow members of staff - in fact, they believe we have no boundaries, or perhaps, that nobody has any boundaries.

The truth is, it’s difficult to focus on someone’s face if their cleavage is wide open just below it. Izzy Mo has already touched on this topic (read the whole post, it’s a scream):

Now as a Muslim … well, even before I converted, I always thought that seeing a woman’s cleavage was just a little too much info. It’s so obvious, overt and blunt. There’s no feminine touch there, though I know many men don’t complain about it. But, now I am seeing the “munchkins” at work in the museum, on the street, on the magazines (the so-called non porn ones) and everywhere else. Ladies…cleavage is like your grandmother’s pearls…they should only be worn on special occasions.

Oh, and another thing, why do you insist on calling me “darling” (pronounced daaaahling), or “sweets”, “precious”, “gorgeous”, when I hardly know you and I’m actually probably older than you? I’ve spoken to men about this and a lot of them know what I’m talking about, and hate it. One time, when I was at sixth-form college, I heard a male fellow student commenting on the lady in the canteen who used to stroke his hand as she was giving him his change. We know an unwanted advance just as well as you lot do, and we like them just as much, that is to say, we hate them.

So, ladies, if you don’t like me talking to your front, do what I do with mine. Cover it up!

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