What’s wrong with flowers? (Photo by Sandra Leavitt Lerner/FTWP)

Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stop sending us images of your junk.

Maybe this does not apply to Rep. Anthony Weiner, who claims that he cannot say “with certitude” whether the infamous gray boxers immortalized in a tweet to a 21-year-old follower belong to him. But that seems fishy. All I know is that whenever I find the one responsible, I will give him a piece of my mind.

Look, guys, it’s not sexy. Monica Hesse interviewed a number of women and experts on this topic, so it is with authority that I say: Menfolks, do not send us pictures of the contents of your pants, unless there is some sort of medical emergency. Not you, Kanye. Not you, Brett Favre. And certainly not you, Mystery Wiener/Weiner.

I know it’s the thought that counts. But need you send a picture of what’s doing the thinking?

We get it. Sexting is all the rage these days. But there is a reason most of those anti-sexting PSA’s are directed at women: images of women tend to get forwarded. I have yet to see this sort of reputation-damaging-forwarding happen to any man who was not a celebrity. In general, our response to such images is not to drop everything and drive home, wild with excitement. It is to worry that we might have the wrong number.

There has been only one occasion when a picture a man sent me raised him in my estimation, and that was because I thought he was hiding a cheese Danish in his pants. I love cheese Danishes!

I don’t know why you think an underwear picture is sexy. Actually, I do. According to researchers at Psychology Today, the male “member” is an item of anatomy that men overwhelmingly search when seeking titillating images online. But I don’t know why you’d think we thought it was sexy. As Hesse points out, we really, really don’t. We’d prefer a picture of anything else you can think of, except maybe grouted tile or a mole you worry might be abnormally colored.

By and large, the female response to this is, “Meh” or “Oh,” or “That’s nice, but get the garbage out” or “I didn’t realize those were in season.” What happened to compensating for your inadequacy rather than sending us high-res pictures of it? The same message could have been conveyed by purchasing a sports car.

And while we’re on the subject, what happened to courtship?

I guarantee William Shakespeare did not woo Anne Hathaway with pictures of his Willy. Besides the fact that such images would have taken months to paint and transport, he knew better ways to court. Dante did not show up at Beatrice’s window and pull down his trousers. Catherine the Great didn’t get any pictures of — well — might as well stop while we’re ahead.

But doesn’t anyone write sonnets any more?

What happened to walking 500 miles and 500 more and winding up at our doors?

How about sending us flowers?

We are surrounded all day by phallic imagery. Horses exist. And there are few areas where supply so wildly outpaces demand as the realm of Wiener Imagery. We didn’t ask for this! But visit any landmark, ever, and — well, there it is!

So I think the statistics back me up when I say, “Put that thing back in your pants!”

If we wanted to see pictures of that, we’d go to Craigslist. Or ChatRoulette. Or, heck, ride the subway.

Next time, try writing a sonnet!