Don’t Look Down

I took the Squirrelly to the pediatric dentist yesterday. The receptionist was a girl in her mid 20’s wearing a push-up bra and an unconscionably low-cut top. She remained seated as she reviewed the papers I had to fill out so I had to look down at her, except when she would briefly stand, lean way over the counter, and point out some clause on the medical waiver form.

Dear Women on Earth: please knock this off. Maybe you think you’re doing us men a favor, that anything that increases the net sum of cleavage in the world is A-OK in our book. And I’m sure that’s true for some. But for those of us who were raised to believe that openly gawping at the breasts of a woman two feet in front of you is rude, your heaving bosoms — while no doubt a real treat under other circumstances — are an undue burden upon us. You have no idea how exhausting it is to concentrate on whatever you’re saying about my son’s dental coverage while 85% of my mental resources have been diverted to my eyeballs to prevent them from drifting southward; you have no idea what a drag it is that, in order to go from looking from your face to looking at the paper in front of me, I have to detour all the way around your chest — feigning a glance at a wall clock en route — or move my head so quickly that I risk whiplash.

Don’t get me wrong: I loves me some cleavage. In a bar, at a party, on the beach. But at the pediatric dentist? Come on. That’s practically entrapment. I mean, who’s your target audience here? Rule of thumb: if you’re in a profession where you routinely interact with married men toting one year-olds, we’ll take your mammalian credentials as an article of faith — no need to flash ’em.

I Find Your Lack Of Banjo Disturbing

Word on the street is that Revenge of the Sith is dark — like really, really dark, darker even than The Empire Strikes Back. That’s too bad. I’m sure I speak for all Star Wars fans everywhere when I say that the comic hijinks of C3PO, Jar-Jar, and those loveable Ewoks have been our favorite parts of the series.

Fortunately the film doesn’t come out for another week, so it’s not too late for George Lucus to turn that frown upside-down. And I have a great idea as to how he could do it. I think he should reveal that the grill on the front of Darth Vader’s mask is, in fact, a built-in harmonica, and during those lonely moments when Darth is by himself — eating a microwave dinner at home or waiting for a bus or whatever — he will sometimes breath out a few verses of “Oh, Susanna” to keep his spirits up.

Maybe the helmet’s technology could even allow him to sing along while playing:

Oh I come from planet Tatooine,
The weather, it was dry.
Was a Jedi knight, but now I’m bad
Oh Padm