All kinds of men regularly hang out in bars. Drunks, alcoholics, Catholics.
But there is really only one kind of women who is a true barfly.*
You can call her Ms. McGee, or Mrs. McGee (if she’s of a certain age), but never call her Boobs.
Our fair maiden learned something at a young age (16 or 17… or 12): Boobs are an instant friend maker. She can be smart, she can be funny, she can be beautiful, but a pair of double Ds are gonna earn her a drinking buddy (who’s paying) faster than you can say Brigitte Bardot.
The thing about Boobs (I’m sorry, I mean Ms. McGee) is that she likely isn’t smart, funny or beautiful. She certainly has some playful charm, most likely memorized a half dozen or so dirty jokes, and, depending on her age, has probably picked up a few tricks and halfway interesting witticisms and factoids to mimic a personality. But there’s a reason she’s in the bar every time you come in for Miller Time.
(Dive bars are especially fertile ground for this barchetype.)
Before I continue on, I should address one protest: Is this characterization misogynistic? Well, before you answer that, have you read any of my other ‘barchetype’ articles? They’re all about unappealing men. I can write unflattering portraits of drunken men and no one bats an eye, but dare to describe a certain type of boozy floozy and I risk being a sexist pig. Well, so be it.
Back to my point at hand.
There is a specific kind of woman in this world who has learned her one sure way to attract male attention is to be hypersexual. Perhaps she flirts incessantly or laces casual conversation with innuendos. In the normal world, this woman can span the spectrum from the proverbial dog to dropdead gorgeous. But when we’re talking about the kind of woman whose second home is the place she goes after the bar, one consistent trait sticks out (with padding, mostly).
It helps that massive consumption of alcohol without exercise leads to weight gain, which tends to plump up the twins (along with the gut, ass and thighs). But even those ladies with relatively modest bosoms learn how to accentuate their milk cartons with flattering apparel or, better yet, minimal clothing.
Good for them. Survival of the fittest and all that.
Maybe nature didn’t gift them with a lot of appeal (or self-esteem), but gosh darn it, they have made the best of it.
I would think it would go without saying, but I am not criticizing this particular barcheytpe. What would a bar be without the token chick hanging around with her mammary glands rocking along to Journey? They’re a natural part of the ecosystem, like the asshole looking to fight and the weirdo drinking alone (guilty). A bar wouldn’t feel right without them there.
So enjoy Boobs McGee in her natural habitat, and by all means, feed the animals.
*This is a totally unfair and untrue simplification and I am aware of it. But for the sake of this article, I’m going to stick by it.