There are rules when you walk into a bar. Different rules for different bars, but they all have rules, and you should be aware of those before you go blasting into a place with your own agenda. I knew something was amiss when I looked up from my drink and saw a man, shirtless, with man boobs, little pink nipples, and a smattering of gray hairs on his chest walk past me. He was heavily cruising the place. It was readily apparent that this was a tourist from the frigid north by his pasty skin, the Pillsbury Doughboy has more melatonin than he did. My bar of choice is mixed, meaning it has men and women that frequent it. Not only that, it is owned by a lesbian. I'm sure she's quite worldly but still, I don't think she wants to see middle aged men walking around her bar shirtless. As the guy strutted around the bar you could hear groans of disgust, with not all of them coming from the women. Finally one of the bartenders laid down the law. It was Debbie who yelled to the guy, "Hey you! If I can't walk around with my shirt off neither can you. Put the damn shirt on!"