Sensitivity training doesn’t get far

I was relieved to hear the high level of discussion at the debating table at the Bakery had not suffered during my winter sojourn from Drizzle Creek.
After all, I had made great personal effort to ensure the highest level of timely and relevant topics were explored fully over the past summer.
It appears my absence, rather than stifling debate, actually had expanded and opened expression of opinion by many of the more reticent.
Apparently (according to usually reliable sources) a recent discussion on dieting and weight loss took an unexpected twist. It appears Ziggy was reflecting on his chauvinistic demeanour and trying to get in touch with his “feminine side.”
He, over this tough winter, has developed a noticeable twitch, plus several blackened nails from misapplied hammers, as he struggles to ready his new riverfront rural house for occupancy.
“You know, it’s just not fair,” complained Gracie, opening this can of worms over her second cup of high test as the usual crew gathered around the debating table early one morning.
(Females around the debating table are only considered appropriate during the early morning before the shift bell rings. After that, it’s generally an all-male domain for the rest of the day).
“What’s not fair?” demanded Ziggy, trying unsuccessfully to extract the last peanut butter and jam from his whiskers.
“How men and women lose weight differently. The first place a women looses weight is off her bust while a man loses it from his butt and belly,” Gracie snorted in total disgust.
“Oh, I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind losing a little up front. These are a nuisance. Maybe I should have a mammary reduction procedure,” observed one well-endowed matron as she sipped at her coffee and then tried to clean up the splash that had dropped onto the offending overhang.
“A reduction? Why on earth would any woman want to do a foolish thing like that?” gasped Ziggy, unable to fathom the reason for such a position.
“Because they’re a nuisance,” Sheila stated with authority.
“Always in the way,” chimed in Maureen.
“A whole bunch of extra weight to carry around and strain your back,” said Val.
“Just something for you lust-filled males to stare at,” snapped Sharilynn.
“But, but, but . . .” stuttered Ziggy, disturbed by the venom of the response as well as a vision of a bosom-less Drizzle Creek.
“They can’t be that much trouble,” he reasoned as he gulped down another mouthful of high test and massaged his grizzled face trying to regain his composure.
“Oh yeah! Tell you what! We’ll fix you up with a bra, weighted down with a couple of beanbags, and you haul that around for a few weeks and see how its feels,” challenged Gracie, her debating hackles now fully raised.
“I dare you to, you sexist pig,”
“Well, I just might if you can get the Runt to wear one, too,” snickered Ziggy imagining the sight, then turning pale at the thought the Runt might just accept the challenge.
“Not much danger, Ziggy,” said the Runt, soothing the now near-panicked Ziggy.
“It would just scare the children and confuse the babies,” he explained as he slathered an extra layer of peanut butter on his toast.
So died sensitivity training in Drizzle Creek.