SAMPLE SIZE, METHODOLOGY, AND EVENTUAL RESEARCH RESULTS

Two years ago, on a post about a person whose eccentric life-style and clothing choices were mildly disturbing, a reader posted the comment: "You have any even more peculiar relationship with breasts than most men."
This morning a fond friend on the other side of the great American hinterland posted a video-link to Lindsay Pelas running in slow motion.

Lindsay Pelas, whom I had never heard of, is endowed.
I got motion sick watching, within the minute.
Never knew a tee-shirt could do that.

I've never actually thought about it, but none of the women I know are that way. No, you may rest assured that I shall not now launch into an in-depth disquisition detailing any or all of them and what their dimensions might be. Primarily because that would mean forcing my mind to indiscreetly go over that terrain in detail and plumb depths of memory best left unexposed, secondarily because those are not the salient characteristics I remember best.

I actually do not have a relationship with breasts; haven't for a while.


The first thing I notice about a woman is her face.

Is it on eye-level, or somewhat below?
Does it look intelligent?
Is it pretty?

Intelligent faces are usually also pretty. Women with lively minds have faces which are intriguing and expressive even when they're trying to look uber-innocent. A brainiac cannot long keep her face from reflecting that she just did something incredibly disruptive to public harmony, or stole the entire bowl of salmon and cream when nobody was watching.


"Do you know what happened that caused the demise of the person whose remains were found in the dustbin?"

"No."

Yet her face will likely reveal "of course I do! The dumb shmo was raiding my neighbor's caviar locker, and wouldn't drop the spoon. So I hit him over the head with a two-by-four and dumped the body down the garbage chute!"

Don't ask why she was near the locker.
She had her reasons.

The astute guardian of law and order, if he's looking into her eyes, would easily discern this. Though he might reject his finding, and refuse to mention it in his subsequent report. Possibly because he wishes to ask her out for cocktails, or she's using a form of mind-control over him.

Nice women have that effect.

[Note to the wise: never live next to someone who has a caviar locker. It's far too exciting, there will be strange sounds in the night.]


I mention all of this because that post from two years ago, which elicited the remark about peculiar relations with breasts, mentioned brassieres. And the visual linked in today's comment made me realize that, in fact, I know next to nothing about brassieres or other garments supportive of the female mammary.


As the line underneath many Talmudic discussions says 'tzarich iyun': further investigation is required.




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