Today, I'd like to talk about boobs.

As a heterosexual male, I can very easily say that I really, really, really like boobs. My girlfriend won't mind my stating here that she has the best boobs I've ever, you know, experienced.

I don't know why we heterosexual males enjoy boobs so much. Perhaps in one of his cocaine-induced egomaniacal theorizing sessions, Freud would have opined that boob-mania comes from an Oedipal condition. Sociologists will point to how body parts that are considered beautiful in a particular culture are exaggerated, such as long necks in Thailand or small feet in China; breasts are exaggerated in American culture because the Puritanical underbelly of our zeitgeist says that women are meant to be mothers and nothing else, and boobs' most important function is caring for a child.

For whatever reason, boobs are hot. And as much as I love boobs, I'd like to make this small request of womankind:

PLEASE STOP FLASHING YOUR BOOBS IN PUBLIC.

Case in point: On Friday, I took my digital camera out to Wrigley Field during game four of the divisional series against the Atlanta Braves. (I've posted my favorites at my other website.) Between "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" and the bottom of the ninth, the entire crowd on famed Waveland Avenue literally had their backs to the ballpark. The women in the third-floor apartment across the street were egged on by the drunken, unwashed masses below (not to mention a handful of cops) to flash their boobs. After teasing the crowd with some girl-on-girl tongue kissing, several women obliged, and, yes, I took a picture.

Why do women do this? Is it simply a fad encouraged by Mardi Gras? Are they hoping to get on Girls Gone Wild and be exploited? Is it an expression of women's liberation or, after decades of arguing for women's liberation, a rebellion to the fight for equal treatment? If peer pressure is that great, how is a gathered group of strangers considered "peers" to such a degree that they can be so pressuring? Are we so vain or were we treated so poorly as children that we'll do anything for attention?

There's a million questions that can be asked, and millions more possible -- and possibly correct -- answers. My answer: flashing your boobs is freebasing attention; it's confirmation crack. I would argue that in a capitalist society that relies on a social Darwinism forced upon it by less-than-free enterprise to define itself, vacuous attention is worth more than true understanding. The 15-minutes of fame dictum has become 15-seconds of self-validation through shocking acknowledgement. I am not a human being existing in an over-saturated world unless attention is paid to me by the entire population (in a given area) for even a moment by any means necessary. Flashing one's boobs holds the power of fleeting joy for the boob viewers, making the boob flasher feel as attractive and important as a celebrity or a model, if only for a short, brief moment.

Booze has something to do with it, too.

If it stopped there, then I wouldn't be arguing for a boob armistice. Your boobs, your prerogative. And if you didn't want a photo of them on my website, you wouldn't have flashed them in public.

Problem is, when the boobs stop and the booze hasn't, the situation turns ugly. The apartment building in question on Friday was pelted with beer cans and insults when the show was over. How sexy did these women feel when the typical encouragement coming from the street was, "Show us your tits, bitch!" and "C'mon, slut, do it!" (direct quotes) followed by a half-chugged Old Style flying through your window? There was a palpable, angry fog that spread across Waveland Avenue because The Show had ended prematurely. Were they expecting a money shot? In fact, the situation could have escalated further and gotten very ugly had the bottom of the ninth inning not arrived holding the promise of a Cubs victory, which didn't come -- pun intended.

I'm pleading for women all over the world to please stop flashing their boobs in public, not because I find it morally reprehensible (or aesthetically unpleasing) but because men are, as my aforementioned beautiful-breasted girlfriend calls them, choads. In most cases of adverse social situations, I don't think the stimulus is the problem. The problem that needs to be addressed is the infrastructure that governs our decision-making processes and architects our reactions. Like with drugs -- the solution is not eliminating drugs; the solution is to eliminate the reasons for doing drugs, societal and emotional.

Boobs, on the other hand, are a different story because if women stop showing their boobs, men will still have necks and ankles, tight sweaters, high heels. When the time is right to see the boobs, those boobs are going to be that much better. Isn't the imagination so much sexier?

I'm on the brink of a slippery slope, though. A similar argument is used to blame women who dress provocatively for being raped. No woman should ever apologize for being raped, can-I-can-get-a-witness. Therefore, I need to make an important distinction here. I'm not saying that men behave like choads because of the boobs. They behave like choads because they are already choads. Until men in America learn to be more respectful of women -- I'm open to suggestions on how we do that -- let's take away this one egregious outlet for that disrespect. Like when my father locked up my Atari 2600 for two weeks; I sure learned my lesson.

I look forward to the day when a woman can expose her breasts to a group of men, get a "Lovely," a "Thank you," and then go back to paying attention to the ballgame.