Oh no, Cristiano: put the pecs away
‘Good Lord’ I said. Or something along those lines.
And I’m sure that when Cristiano Ronaldo and Didier Drogba posed in their tiny pants for the cover of Vanity Fair, their mouths frozen into rigor mortis grimaces with the effort of flexing their gigantic pectoral muscles, they were hoping for such a response from women all over the country.
What they perhaps didn’t intend after that first moment of general agog-ness was an urgent wave of repulsion. But then as two of the most cloyingly dumb and vehemently self-worshipping footballers on the planet, the chances of them having the first clue about how they come across were always small.
Women respond to flirtation, romance, evidence of skill, and the suggestion of intelligence or wit.
So why do men think that waving their little members in our faces, or displaying their oiled, bronzed, hairless bulks like pig’s torsos in the butcher’s window might turn us on?