What would it take for you to show your bare body parts to a complete and total stranger in 32-degree weather? Apparently for St. Louis girls, all it takes are some 5-cent beads cheap enough in quality that my 1-year-old nephew can snap them without breaking a sweat. It seems quite surprising to me that grown women are so comfortable and eager to show off what their mommas gave them to drooling men so long as they have a strand of beads in their hands. Now I know flashing your boobs for these horny old men seems to be a long established tradition in New Orleans, but just because someone holds some beads out doesn’t necessarily mean you should show off your goodies, especially without first checking out your surroundings.

This weekend, while celebrating this Fat Tuesday by drinking heavily and avoiding broken glass and drunkards spilling drinks on me, I realized just how depressing this holiday can be-smart, logical women throwing every shred of dignity out the window for any guy that can muster up a whistle or a “lookin’ good baby.” For a group of girls living in an apartment building overlooking one of the main roads in the St. Louis celebration, their dignity wasn’t the only thing that was flying out the window.

As we approached a particularly drunk group of men, wondering why such a congregation had formed, I looked up at the apartment’s windows only to see three pairs of boobs looking back down at me. One girl had her breasts out of her pulled down bra, her shirt bunched up near her neck. She simply sat with her boobs out as the guy sitting next to her on the windowsill jiggled them around and yelled to the audience to throw her beads. The second woman, a little more outgoing than the first, kept pulling up her shirt to expose her abnormally large breasts while yelling out a “woo” with each lift.

Finally, the third pair of sweater monkeys I had the “pleasure” of seeing belonged to a girl that seemed incredibly sure of herself. She had completely taken off her shirt and bra, apparently allowing for easier access and numerous showings to the awaiting crowd. Acting as a true stripper would, she would hold herself out of the window, shimmying-or attempting to shimmy-the small amount of boobs that she did possess, and would then lean out backwards, shaking out her hair as beads were pelted at her, one strand even smacking her square in the face.

I know how excited we all are at the prospect of picking up a pair of shiny little balls attached to a string, but making a complete fool of yourself doesn’t quite seem to be worth it. Not only did this poor girl get hit multiple times by drunk strangers whipping beads at her naked body, but was also being photographed and videotaped by countless people. Who knows where these videos and pictures will end up, and how many pairs of eyes will view her pair of jugs. As I’ve said before, if you girls are up for showing your stuff on tape, make sure you will be in constant control of who can view the footage-we all know the stories about the celebrities’ whose most intimate moments are plastered all over the internet for the perv-iest of persons to see. Even when you’re celebrating Mardi Gras by baring your chest, it’s probably best to make sure the guys waiting to see the twins aren’t holding a video camera and/or wearing a Girls Gone Wild hat.

I’m all about women being comfortable in their skin and generally take no issue with those women who strip down to grace the covers of Playboy or feel like the occasional boob flash, but it’s an entirely different situation when you are wasted and probably won’t remember that you were being documented on video in your naked and inebriated state. Just remember that you don’t need to show your chest to accumulate massive amounts of beads, nor to gain any amount of self-confidence. Think about if you saw some of those same guys in a situation outside of Mardi Gras… would you ever even think about showing them your chest? Absolutely not. So why do beads suddenly make all the difference? If you are really in the mood to strip down and let people ogle your body, I suggest you at least be in the company of friends who aren’t trying to become the next Joe Francis.