"Women don't look at men with the same hot-blooded concentration as we do them." Photo: Clare Plueckhahn
Women don’t look at men with the same hot-blooded concentration as we do them. This is anthropological. A man’s glance is like a searchlight: it always goes the same route when it’s switched on.
Eyes.
Nose.
Lips.
Neck.
Breasts.
Navel.
Waist.
Thighs.
Knees.
Calves.
Toes.
Plus you can add one more if her clothes are on the floor and she’s walking towards you, and another if she’s walking away. You do get the picture don’t you?
But first you have to get lucky.
The woman has much more to deal with, particularly if the man is a surfer. So much can go wrong. This lady for instance, we might think that she is gazing at us (you or me) in utter fascination and with unbridled lust – that’s the wired in understanding – but what she is in fact doing is running her own bodily function check. On your body.
Follow us on this journey.
Eyes.
That small trace of white matter seeping from the corners of your eyes, that redness around the pupil – that’s herpetic keratoconjunctivitis – and that’s what she’s looking at. The Madras Eye. Not a good look lad, you’ll probably shed a tear when she walks away and that’s precisely the treatment your eyes need. How’s the irony eh? Too bad. Next.
Nose
No real need to dwell here as so much can go wrong. The sinuses are a swamp of embarrassment for the surfer. She knows that what has gone up must come back down, and nobody has yet come up with the proper etiquette for mopping up a puddle of nasally discharged saltwater mucus from a girl’s navel. You should consider yourself lucky that you got that far brother. But no further, and too bad. Knucklehead.
Lips
A man’s been in the sun and saltwater all day, battling swell, and the lips are a little dry, a little cracked – but it’s cool right? Tom Carroll has been getting away with it for centuries.
But maybe not, and you want to know why? She’s looking at Erythema, or possibly Angular cheilitis. Either way she knows you have a fungal farm on your lips and there is no way the lady is going there today – so you might as well kiss that babe goodbye, like hell. Too bad. Next.
Neck
You wouldn’t think it would you, what could go wrong here? A neck is a neck, all it does is hold up the head and funnel the food.
Sorry lad, this lady knows her way ’round – and she’s looking at your emerging Caruncle, your Wattle. Twenty years in saltwater have negated all the skin’s natural elasticity and now you look like Granny down there. Plus there’s a small forest of mature hair in the gulleys that need attention. This isn’t your day. Too bad, bro. Next.
Breast Chest
At last, she’s down to where it matters, the top-end acres.
What can go wrong here? This is the main attraction, even if the head is a bit of a pineapple what babe could resist such a spread?
She can, because it’s not all roses and abs down there lad. How many different terms are there for nipple rash we ask; jogger’s nipple, surfer’s nipple, gardener’s (?) nipple, raver’s nipple and red nipple. Whatever you call it, it’s Fissure of the Nipple, plus the possibility that it contains a smear of eczema, or a touch of impetigo, a dimpling of psoriasis – whatever, you’ve got it and she’s spotted it. Dang!
Navel
Candid. And you though yeast was just for making bread rise. Wrong again, old boy. And the lady is well onto it – yeast is bugs, and bugs in the navel is candida, and candida is fungus. No good just gazing into there brother, some places need a regular reaming, and knowing that Candida was also a hot little Mexican stripper in Tijuana doesn’t excuse you. Asamatteroffact there could be more bad news on that front.
But there has got to be a winner somewhere down here, doesn’t there?
Moving right down to Thighs, because after all this is a family blog and there are ladies present.
You may not know it, but thighs have a neighborhood problem, and it’s the folks upstairs that started it.
We’re talking Tinea cruris here, eczema marginatum – that’s crotch rot on the move, dhobi itch*. You may think that wearing boardshorts gives you a free run here but the old travelling jock itch is a little unmistakable in the nose department – it smells, she knows. She goes.
Knees and calves
Knobby, boney – not with considering. Hairy. Pass.
Toes
This is worth remembering.
Most men don’t worry enough about their toes. As a result, they have rarely come to terms with the life that teems down there, between them. Trichophyton interdigital, those fellows, they breed like rabbits and don’t bury their dead – hence the odour.
The toes also itch like all the furies and the minute you bend down to give them a scratch that’s the game given away. Athlete’s foot, footrot.
You’ve made it this far and failed in the home straight – walk away lad, it’s over.
*Dhobi itch; back when the English ruled the world and were busy subjugating India they used to have the locals do their laundry – nothing like washing out a gross of old pommie underpants for a living – so the locals put a lot of effort into putting a lot of soap into the wash and not rinsing too hard. The result was some very hard underdaks, hence rash, hence dhobi (laundryman) itch. Thank you, it’s a pleasure.
