Man Boobs

Hello, hungry people.

It’s time someone spoke up about man boobs. Not this particular someone. But someone with real-life, man-boob experience.

Please, no snickering. I don’t have man boobs. Gravity-impacted pecs? Maybe.

Besides, no man with man boobs would ever admit to having man boobs. And please ignore that incident the other morning when I was out walking, wearing my clingy, ultra-wicking t-shirt, and a “friend” sitting outside a coffee shop shouted: “Hey, nice rack!”

I wish I could report I had a snappy comeback, something like:

• Yes, the hormone replacement therapy is obviously working.

• I just moved up to a C-cup.

• They’re real and they’re spectacular!

Instead, I just waved and kept walking, reminding myself of a saying I saw on a beer coaster somewhere: “I don’t hold grudges, but I do remember assholes.”

***

At this point, you should be thanking me for not topping this post with a lurid photo of man boobs, of which there are gazillions floating around on the internet, not that I’ve looked or anything.

No, I wanted to keep this high-minded and professional, which is why I went with the diagram from Mayo Clinic that refers to the clinical term for man boobs — gynecomastia. Like so many medical diagrams, it provides way too much detail of something that is really very simple. In this case: too much fat.

For the record, I am not fat. Sagging perhaps, but not fat. When I stepped on the scales this morning, I weighed in at 174 pounds. I’m 5 feet, 11 inches tall. Punch those stats into the BMI (Body Mass Index) calculator and it comes out to 24.3, at the top end of the “healthy weight” spectrum. Which is all the encouragement I need to have a big bowl of ice cream this evening. With chocolate syrup. Then maybe walk 20 miles.

***

There is small comfort in the fact that about 60 percent of men develop gynecomastia at some point in their lives. And then there are those poor souls who are afflicted with “asymmetric gynecomastia,” which means lopsided man boobs, one boob being larger than the other.

Ok, that’s all the medical terminology any of us can stand. So let’s cut to the lurid photos.

You’re looking at Jack Nicholson, who I hereby nominate as the poster boy for man boobs. There are lots of photos of him on the internet proudly showing off his rack because, hey, he’s Jack Nicholson and Jack doesn’t give a rat’s ass what people think.

Friendly advice to Jack: Putting on sunscreen ain’t gonna fix the man-boob issue. Not if you apply to your face. As for slathering it onto your chest, that won’t fix it either. There are no ointments or creams that will reduce the size of your tits. Exercise or losing weight won’t help. Exercise or losing weight will only succeed in making the rest of you look firm while your man boobs look even bigger in comparison.

The only reliable solution, according to medical professionals, is liposuction or surgical removal of breast tissue which is not only expensive but sounds even more painful than getting kicked in the nuts.

Which is why advertisements like the one below are popping up everywhere these days.

To quote from the Mott & Bow website, this 100-percent cotton t-shirt is “an automatic compliment magnet and immediate confidence booster . . . designed to accentuate your biceps and shoulders while discreetly covering your belly and man boobs.”

Cut to the chase: It costs $39. Not including tax and shipping.

As a public service for other men (and the spouses/partners who have to look at them), I would be willing to try one out to see if it does all that it claims to do. But am I going to pay $39-plus for a goddam t-shirt? I cannot in good conscience, or even bad conscience, do that.

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Which is where you come in.

Perhaps you remember a few months back when I wrote about my love for mangosteens, bemoaned the fact that they are hard to find in the continental U.S. and are outrageously expensive, like $27 apiece? Several of you generous readers chipped in enough money for me to buy two of them from an online fruit shipper. They turned out to be decent enough. Not worth $27. But it was a noble and exceedingly foolish effort. And I thank you.

That’s what this is: Noble and exceedingly foolish.

Chip in to help me buy one of these over-priced, alleged man-boob-hiding t-shirts and I will give it a test drive.

You can Venmo me right here. There’s no minimum amount. Send as much or as little as you like.

(IMPORTANT UPDATE: I’m told that I screwed up the Venmo link. Shocker. So if you’re in on this you can go through the extra step and Venmo me — @Bob-Morris.)

This is where it would be reasonable for you to ask: “Will there be before and after photos?”

Yes! It’s only fair that I hang it all out there. Not like Jack, of course. But discreetly clothed. Like this guy:

Or maybe not like that guy. Not judging here.

Indeed, I was tempted to show you the before photo now, but I reconsidered, thinking: Make ‘em pay for it.

So, once again, my Venmo account is right here. (Or @Bob-Morris)

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Of course, if you don’t want to do the Venmo thing, and I get that, you could just go ahead and do the sensible thing by becoming a paid subscriber, if you aren’t already one. Just hit this button:

Thanks for dropping by Bob’s Diner. I’ll see you again here soon.