I wasn’t going to comment. The news is having a heyday all its own. Is there need for another small time blogger piling on? That is until Matt Lauer dropped his pants and then, really, all hell broke lose and my brain exploded.
Right here, on these pages, how many times have we advised the boys: Don’t send dick pics. Don’t drop your pants. Don’t show us your shlong. We can’t be more clear. Keep it under wraps. Need the reasons? Again?
We don’t think penises are all that lovely. The exception is, of course, the one attached to the one we love. Even then, if he’s sending photos of his wee for our kids, colleagues and whomever might pick up our phones to see, we’re gonna get mad. At the very least you embarrass us. You know how well we handle that. At most, you help brand us nasty names. Magnify that times a thousand and you have the repulsion we feel at a message from a penis with whom we are unacquainted.
We really can’t figure out the reasoning. Has it ever worked? Have you ever taken out your special friend and had a chick swoon, mounting you right there? Has she ever just whipped off her clothes and been yours forever after a view of your dangler? Have you ever, in your whole life, had a doll beg you for just a peek? Excepting whatever goes on in your committed, or not so committed but consensual, relationship–the answer is no. The girl has not been born that falls to the floor begging on site of your manhood.
What manual suggests that if you’re her boss, her colleague or her professional superior in any way that it might be appropriate to share your wares? You really think she keeps quiet because you’re cute? Newsflash-she needs her job. She’ll add your dick to the list of crap she has to deal with on a daily basis. Until she won’t.
Hence the groundswell.
It’s no surprise to those of us without penises that when one woman comes forward, a trail follows. Even though one is too many, we know if there’s one, there’s another and another and another. We’re not interested in your apologies. You’re not sorry. If you were, embarrassment would have gotten the better of you and there would be no other girls waiting on line to tell their stories. You would not have a lock button under your desk. There would be no bevy of starlets expected to trade favors for jobs. Or jobs for jobs, right? Somehow, it’s not so funny when the tables are turned?
Don’t tell us you’re sick or need rehab. Whipping out your dick is not a disease. Harassing and humiliating women who work for you is not a sickness. It’s an attempt to shame, embarrass and control. What to do when we’re not so easily controlled anymore? Easy. Keep it in your pants and you’re good to go.
The only place your penis should emerge in the workplace is the men’s room. That’s it. See how the guys respond? That’s how we feel when you whip it out. We’re not impressed. We’re not weakened at the sight. What’s really going through our heads?
“Wow, that guy’s a dick.”