"Stop treating us like sex objects!" say the confident ladies, buttoning up their dungarees to the neck in readiness for a fight with the men that would have them defrocked and lubricated for uncomplicated sex.
Meanwhile, across town, an identical group of girls are preparing themselves for a night out, plumping, positioning, tugging down, pushing up and generally exposing as much flesh as possible without catching cold in the harsh British winter.
The UK's best-selling newspaper runs its 'National Cleavage Week' and out they come, like large-breasted slut-worms from the woodwork, desperate to be photographed and have their bolstered chests stuck all over the papers like the dumb models they so protest against. Why is this?
On the one hand women demand to be admired for their intellect and wit, on the other they want to be desired, lusted for and wanked over, confirming the fact that, no, they're not fat, and yes, they have lost weight recently. "Look at me! Notice me!" they screech with their bodies and eyes, desperate for male attention to prove their self worth.
Deep down, every woman secretly wants to be treated like a sex object. To be chatted up, whistled at, to see eyes flicking down towards their previously prepared chest -- every action such as this underlines the fact that they are sexy, desirable, and as such, have successfully carried out their born duties as women.
But you can't have it both ways, ladies. Either cover them up and earn our respect -- and force us to buy you food and alcohol in return for a look -- or just show some dignity and be honest for once. Maybe some sort of badge system should be arranged -- "Look at me! I love it!" or perhaps "Don't look at me, I'm in denial"?
The sort of brazen display of flesh that should be banned.