When I go out to lunch, I have a really hard time keeping my nipples tucked in. There is something about al fresco dining that just makes them want to join in. Maybe it’s the smell of New York in the summer (not great), the cool breeze, or the ill-fitting warm weather shirts, but something just makes them want to join the party and give their take on my dinner salad.

So I really don’t feel fair in mocking the living daylights out of Mickey Rourke for his man chi chi-baring meal the other day. Who am I to judge a guy for whipping out his pecs? Though at some point they’re no longer pecs, they’re boobs. Normally the man boob line is crossed due to flab. While in Rourke’s case it’s clearly due to muscle, I’d argue that the reason doesn’t matter so much as does the total area/amount of water they could displace. Once you get to a certain volume (I really hope I’m properly mixing up my units of mass here), boobs are boobs, regardless of reason. And Mickey is sporting some boobs.

Yesterday Mickey was eating – with a group of male friends, as Pacific Coast News points out – at Cristoni Pizzeria in Beverly Hills. They noted that he “paraded his pumped-up pecs in an open shirt as he smoked and drank Diet Coke outside the eatery.” Because nothing mans up a boob shot like a nice Diet Coke. If only Mickey had one of his many tiny dogs with him. Don’t get me wrong, I love Mickey’s dogs. And I especially love how dearly he loves them. But they don’t exactly lend a lot of butch to the atmosphere.

Nonetheless, congrats Mickey. If mine were that perky, I’d be sharing them with the rest of the diners too.

Images thanks to Pacific Coast News.