I got caught looking at cleavage. And I mean caught. So caught. Caught squared. And (here’s where you throw up your hands and stop listening) I didn’t mean to. Jerry Seinfeld taught me years ago that “looking at cleavage is like looking at the sun.” YOU NEVER LOOK DIRECTLY AT IT. You look a little to the side and then away. Repeat as necessary.

Violet and I were at a bakery. While sipping coffee, enjoying pastries and each other’s company, I took a bite of my croissant, turned my head right as this woman was walking by our table. I was sitting, she was standing. There was no escape, really. My direct line of vision was totally bombarded by boobs. And as my line of vision did start somewhere in the midsection, as it proceeded to work its way up to the eyes, it got a little tripped up by this dangly, wrap around shirt thing that was barely, barely hanging on. And so I got stuck there for a second. A mere second. But by the time I made it all the way up to the eyes, fully prepared to offer that friendly ‘oh, hello’ grin, she shot this look like, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Followed by this, ‘I am so disappointed in you’ head shake.

And seriously, I’ve been avoiding direct cleavage glances for decades now. And I’m usually pretty stealth. I should have known better. I could have done better. But I didn’t. So, all I could offer was a tucked tail as I made my last attempt at redemption and tried to pretend like I was actually just looking at the bin of dirty dishes next to her. Um, fail.

So then, just to keep myself in a downward spiral of white-tall-femme-is-wrong-with-you-dude, I waited for the woman to leave and then immediately told Violet what had just happened. (Some of you are probably pulling your hair out, yes?) Sometimes that line of girlfriend and best friend gets a little foggy… or something. But basically I ended up with two women shaking their heads at me in total disapproval within minutes of each other.

And as I continued to try and explain myself to Violet I suddenly realized that I was doing that thing where you’re leaving a voicemail and something goes wrong so you try to fix it by over-explaining, only to work yourself deeper into that dark hole of why-haven’t-you-shut-the-fuck-up-yet? So, mid-sentence I just stopped. We both continued to sip coffee and chit chat. And then, I leaned in and quietly said, “I love yours the most though.”

Dude. Seriously. Shut up.