I Am More Than My Big Firm Round Ones

Those of you who know me might be surprised to hear this, but I know what it's like to be objectified. To be eye-balled, given the once-over. I understand this is an unusual statement when it comes from a hirsute middle-aged man with more hair on his back than on his head, but it's true. I'm often characterized solely by my big firm gravity-defying round ones. Their size and symmetry appraised and lauded.

God forbid I show them off in public.

Hello? My face is up here!

Just because I'm well endowed doesn't give you the license to gawk and ogle.

Or does it?

I'll admit I find the attention flattering, but it's also awkward and weird. I want to cry out:

I'm more than a pair of fabulous fleshy protrusions!

I'm an accomplished Scrabble player, an avid reader of non-fiction and a fan of the surrealist paintings of Max Ernst!

There's a brain in here!

I'm more than a pair of stunning calves.

And while it might not be exactly analogous to the comments a voluptuous woman endures when she walks past an urban construction site, it's in the same ballpark. So, ladies, I get it. I know what it feels like to be a hot, sexy nubile babe at a sausage hang. I can empathize.

I'll admit there are some situations where unsolicited calf-commentary makes a certain sense. At sporting functions, for instance. Last week at Wednesday night pick-up basketball, a dude remarked that I have the "calves of a powerlifter." Total non sequitur. We were not on the subject of calf-raises or calf-injuries or calf-tattoos. He just had to say it. While it was slightly off-topic, it was not completely out-of-the-blue. When you match-up on defense in pick-up basketball, you first engage in a frank discussion about the physical attributes of the opposing team. You then coordinate your team's height, weight, speed, and strength. You're allowed to be candid. So perhaps my calves were just part of the scouting report. My son Alex informs me that some of the soccer players I've coached are intimidated by my giant calves. I sort of get this. The muscle tone in my calves is epic, and I'm sure it's due to coaching and playing soccer. So it's kind of germane. And I can understand when my acupuncturist comments on them. She's working on them. Sticking needles into them to try to get the giant knots out.

But I also get calf compliments at work. This is partly my fault for parading around in shorts in a professional environment, but I like to exercise when I'm on the clock (it's like I'm being paid to work out . . . you're tax dollars at work). So I'm not claiming harassment here; I recognize that I'm flaunting my naked calves in the workplace and that there may be consequences. And I know I'm a lucky guy: Johnny Drama would be green with envy. There's no question that women young and old find my calves irresistible. So when they get a peek at them, they're compelled to say something. I get this. I feel the same way when I see a shapely woman, especially if she's showing some cleavage. It's a hard topic not to discuss. I refrain, of course, because it's 2019, but the impulse is there.

I would also like to assure everyone that I do not have calf implants. I would never be so shallow.

My calves are real. And they're spectacular.

I've obviously got to end this post in the same manner as Boogie Nights. I've got to show you the goods.

Here they are:

It's more difficult than you think to take a selfie of both calves. I used a mirror.

Feel free to comment, but remember: I'm more than just a pair of awesome calves . . . I've also got great pecs!


You wouldn't believe how much I can bench. But you tell first . . .