A little advice for my brothers

I was going to write this column about Do’s and Don’ts for my sisters who will venture out on the sandy beaches of California and worldwide this summer. However, in the midst of it, I received some complaints from my much beloved brothers. Their beef with me? That my columns are discriminating of the male gender. Well, far be it from me to ignore the estrogen-challenged! Especially since beach etiquette is sadly much ignored by my male compatriots, with often ridiculous results.

Take the topic of swim trunks for example. Now, I know that sometime in the 70s, it must have been cool to wear those skimpy red speedos, and the practice may persist today in some of the Mediterranean’s more slimy Euro-trash spots, but please, please, my brothers, I implore you: Leave something to the imagination! Just because your wife gazes at your jiggly buttocks with the adoration that only a loving, devoted woman can muster, does not mean that the rest of us want to get intimate with your nether regions. If it was up to me, I would ban men from attending the beach if their swim trunks go anywhere above the knee. Remember, we are not all Calvin Klein models out there. And even if we were, undies are best left to the bedroom, not to public places!

Speaking of physical attributes, here is the time to take sweet sweet revenge after years of taking criticisms for our shapely Iranian female hips! Hullo gentlemen, have you heard of sit-ups? A soft, pasty, doughy stomach that has achieved the round shape of a mosque’s dome after years of feeding on noon barbari (Iranian type of bread) and pollo khoresht (rice and meats dish native to Iran) has no place on the beach! If I was interested in whale watching, I would read Moby Dick. Instead, please hit the gym and allow me to fantasize about your ripped 12 packs while reading the juiciest tidbits of a Barbara Cartland bodice-ripper, my fave poolside reading material.

But I hope that strenuous physical activity will not cause you to develop athlete’s foot! As much as pretty women’s feet, small, graceful and painted in pink, red, and orange, have been the subject of fetish and universal adoration, male feet remain a nightmare! While my poor eyes are normally spared the spectacle of ugly, bony, sprawling and stinky male feet during the three other seasons, summer is the time that the little suckers feel it is their right to reign supreme and expose themselves through hideous flip-flops, Birkenstocks sandals and other monstrosities. Maman jan, ghorboonet beram, please I beg you go to a pedicurist before hitting the sand lest the sea itself recoil in terror at the sight of your bunions threatening to destroy its fragile ecosystem.

Last but not least comes the problem of body hair, a fate that has been especially cruel to our Middle-Eastern brothers. Now, to tell you the truth, I have always loved a little hair on my man’s chest. Too much soft and hairless skin just reminds me of a baby’s bum and automatically turns me off. However, when you have graduated from merely “hairy” onto the dimension of “human sweater”, you may want to think about depilatory options. There are lots of them out there including waxing, electrolysis and laser removal but I have no illusions. Unlike women who can manage to keep a smile on their face even as the most excruciating pain is inflicted on their skin through hair removal, men are big sissies who will whimper in pain at the very sight of a wax strip or a needle. So better to let your wifey apply Nair to some of the more unsightly spots such as your back and shoulders. This has the double advantage that your wife won’t have to deal with clogged drains in the bathtub for three whole months!!!

So my brothers and sisters, what did you think of my first male-oriented column? Not bad uh? Lest you think my criticism too harsh, or my attitude too tongue-in-cheek, this is Ziba and Ziba is what you have asked for. You will thank me for my tough love in the long run. Until then, ta-ta and see you all at the beach! \