Pine Nuts: Touching, and the tort law |

Pine Nuts: Touching, and the tort law

Women who are victims of uninvited advances are oftentimes victims of men, who are in turn victims of Mother Nature.

I love Mother Nature, but she has one crying flaw to her otherwise sterling character, she has endowed many a man with a sex drive stronger than he can handle.

She bolts a Ferrari engine onto a Volkswagen chassis, and when that man is young and stupid, he goes “Va-Va-Voom,” and does inappropriate things. This is not to excuse such abysmal conduct, but to expose and condemn the causal component, the life instinct, that is the root of ill-conceived, starry-eyed advances. Mother Nature allocates libidos to women by the dipperful, then allocates libidos to men by the bucketful.

Have you ever heard of a case where a man accused a woman of unwanted advances? Me neither. In 3,000 years of profane history never has such a complaint been filed, and I have searched the records exhaustively.

Though I do recall an accidental French kiss from my Aunt Agnus at Thanksgiving when I was 12 that embarrassed her and surprised me. She apologized profusely and blamed the reflexive accident on her boyfriend, who winked at me and shrugged his shoulders.

In full disclosure, I am scribing this screed from the comfort of the “quiet room,” where I am no longer distracted by a libido, but am resting in eternal peace, and thus able to cast a dispassionate eye on the matter.

The sad truth remains starkly evident that the young man of today needs to consider purchasing one of those dog collars that shocks him when barking, keep it around his neck, and fire it off whenever he feels an urge to reach out and touch someone without an open invitation.

Alternatively, the young woman of today needs to consider purchasing one of those powerful pneumatic air horns that will wake Gen. Grant and his wife in their New York residence, and give that air horn full throttle if somebody caresses her without her permission.

The day of the three-step rule is over. It used to be:

1. “Hey, don’t touch me unless I ask you to touch me!”

2. “Yes, this is the attorney for the plaintiff calling.”

3. “So how much do you need exactly, to keep this secret between us boys?”

Nowadays, and rightfully so, it is more often, “See you in the court of public opinion, Mr. Big Bug!” Nothing cowers Mr. Big Bug like the wrath of public opinion, as a foolish man is most vulnerable in his vanity.

You might suppose that I am a constitutional lawyer, but I’m not. I’m just an observer of human nature, though I can suggest a tort law that might end such miserable misbehavior.

I call it the, “Let’s Have Lunch Restraining Order.” Both sides have to sign it before meeting for lunch. Here it is in its full legal form: “Hi, let’s have lunch, a nice conversation, but no kneesies under the table, and we split the bill.”

In closing, I would again like to place a small portion of inappropriate touching guilt upon the broad shoulders of Mother Nature for furnishing the average man with way too much Love Potion Number Nine. That being said, let’s go, men, let’s get a handle on it. Let’s put our best gentleman forward and become a better man.

Learn more about McAvoy Layne at

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