My undisputed pettest peeve will always be excessive honking, so my 
new complaint is, by comparison, inoffensive. Still, it is a daily nuisance, beyond my control, and it's usually made of cotton. I have no problem with the actual fabric. My initial conjecture was that this is another New York trend, predominantly native to the East Village and other hip-infested neighboorhoods, but it seems to have stretched its tentacles in all directions at once, like a flailing octopus of fashion - it's the "funny" t-shirt. I shouldn't have to describe it, but it's the one with the witty catchphrase ("My wiener does tricks") or with a clever design (a man with "bear" arms above the words "The second amendment"). Again, I have no qualms with the shirts themselves - a lot of them are entertaining (especially this one). What does annoy is the fact that when girls wear them, this source of humor is pasted right across their chests - as in, the area many of them complain we already stare at with excessive and unabated verve. I would hope they are conscious of the baiting, and I suspect it doesn't make a difference, serving as yet another way
to proclaim an I-told-you-so. And here's the rub: I spot a shirt with a hint of scribbling or colored decor, and my eyes perk up, snapping to attention, eager for a laugh. The wearer knows what's on her bosom, but since the joke's novelty is no longer meant for her, and other thoughts presumably occupy her mind, upon seeing my reaction, a woman will likely default to the age-old assumption that I am visually boring a hole through her clothing, imagining and lusting after her bare breasts. No guy (and pardon the semi-intentional pun) wants to get busted under false pretenses, but it's worse to emote anything resembling self-defense ("I was reading the shirt, I swear!") because it's always tinged with admission of guilt. After some thought, I've devised a way of skirting the issue: if I sense a girl is aware of my wandering eyes, I'll counter with a smile, a nod, and a tactful "Cool shirt." This lets me read the phrase at a normal pace (no hurried glances and confusing misreads), appreciate the accompanying design, and avoids the uncomfortable chest-gaze-malentendu. Everyone wins and maintains their public dignity. Of course there will be the occasional unfunny or played-out shirt ("Vote for Pedro" is past its expiration date), which is troublesome, because you don't want to encourage further sporting of stupid shirts by faking a compliment, let alone nodding in consent of poor fashion choice. That's exactly the reckless etiquette we aim to undermine. Fortunately, it's a dilemma requiring little strategic engineering. I'll just smile, nod, and say "Cool boobs."
new complaint is, by comparison, inoffensive. Still, it is a daily nuisance, beyond my control, and it's usually made of cotton. I have no problem with the actual fabric. My initial conjecture was that this is another New York trend, predominantly native to the East Village and other hip-infested neighboorhoods, but it seems to have stretched its tentacles in all directions at once, like a flailing octopus of fashion - it's the "funny" t-shirt. I shouldn't have to describe it, but it's the one with the witty catchphrase ("My wiener does tricks") or with a clever design (a man with "bear" arms above the words "The second amendment"). Again, I have no qualms with the shirts themselves - a lot of them are entertaining (especially this one). What does annoy is the fact that when girls wear them, this source of humor is pasted right across their chests - as in, the area many of them complain we already stare at with excessive and unabated verve. I would hope they are conscious of the baiting, and I suspect it doesn't make a difference, serving as yet another way
to proclaim an I-told-you-so. And here's the rub: I spot a shirt with a hint of scribbling or colored decor, and my eyes perk up, snapping to attention, eager for a laugh. The wearer knows what's on her bosom, but since the joke's novelty is no longer meant for her, and other thoughts presumably occupy her mind, upon seeing my reaction, a woman will likely default to the age-old assumption that I am visually boring a hole through her clothing, imagining and lusting after her bare breasts. No guy (and pardon the semi-intentional pun) wants to get busted under false pretenses, but it's worse to emote anything resembling self-defense ("I was reading the shirt, I swear!") because it's always tinged with admission of guilt. After some thought, I've devised a way of skirting the issue: if I sense a girl is aware of my wandering eyes, I'll counter with a smile, a nod, and a tactful "Cool shirt." This lets me read the phrase at a normal pace (no hurried glances and confusing misreads), appreciate the accompanying design, and avoids the uncomfortable chest-gaze-malentendu. Everyone wins and maintains their public dignity. Of course there will be the occasional unfunny or played-out shirt ("Vote for Pedro" is past its expiration date), which is troublesome, because you don't want to encourage further sporting of stupid shirts by faking a compliment, let alone nodding in consent of poor fashion choice. That's exactly the reckless etiquette we aim to undermine. Fortunately, it's a dilemma requiring little strategic engineering. I'll just smile, nod, and say "Cool boobs."
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