But what do we average fellows get? We get the satisfaction of knowing that we’ll never marry, let alone talk to, such knockout beauties.
That makes us even more depressed.
So we go to cheesy restaurant chains where waitresses wear short shorts and low-cut shirts and exploit us all the more.
The coy lasses touch our arms delicately. They give us flirtatious glances. They talk softly and sensuously, the way women do when they know men are about to hand them gobs of money.
One of my poor, baldheaded friends falls for this ruse several times a month.
Despite being coated in hot-wing sauce and stale beer, he is convinced his waitress likes him. His waitress encourages this fiction and is rewarded with a 50 percent tip.
I think I speak for average fellows everywhere when I say I resent that.
I resent that some women deliberately target us for our money and are exceptionally good at parting us from it.
I resent that some waitresses can so easily take advantage of hapless, simple-minded men by plying us with a few lousy beers.
I resent that Sports Illustrated packs its swimsuit issue with photos of the most physically beautiful women in the world, knowing that’s all the magazine has to do to get us to buy it.
Yeah, our culture places way too much emphasis on physical beauty. Young girls are taught by the media that the chief way to win a male’s attention is through provocative clothing.
None of this is good.
And neither is it good for my middle-aged, hair-challenged friends to be taken advantage of by big media outlets and big restaurant chains.
That’s why I am so disgusted this time every year — as I thumb through my Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.
It’s no wonder I am so disgusted when I purchase the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue every year.
Tom Purcell is an author and a Pittsburgh Tribune-Review humor columnist.