Fluffy tails and satin ears people.
Try to imagine me and my bad nine-year old self sportin’ the kneesocks and rocking the wool skirt while remaining prostrate on my knees for endless hours during the fucking sixteen hour burden of the incense covered fog of the stations of the cross. Lesser Catholics passing out from hunger thirst and whatever chemicals were in that stupid incense dispenser on a chain the priest was waving all over the place.
Emerging feeling righteous, pious and good I hoofed it home in time to pack my bags for a weekend trip to Vernon Valley Great Gorge. Not just to ski, but to be served a virgin shirley temple by a pretty girl in ears and a tail all while she smiled and did the “bunny dip”.
No touching please.
Sometimes I wonder about the number of strange ill-fitting puzzle pieces that have to come together to complete a person. You would never imagine that such a good church going group like ourselves were Gold Key carrying members of the Playboy Club. They were swanky, sophisticated and sexual. Although I didn’t really get the sexual part yet. All I knew was that the pretty colored outfits, smiling girls, bunny tails and boobies were like a dream come true. The most successful nightclub chain in history had me hook line and sinker.
In the 70’s Hugh built the EPIC Playboy Club Hotel in Vernon Valley Great Gorge (northern NJ). You could ski AND grope bunnies on the slopes before returning to your sprawling refuge to look at MORE bunnies inside. To enter you had to have a special key card (which of course we did) and you were treated like Playboy royalty.
I remember scrubbing up in the shower after skiing and hitting the indoor pool and being thrilled by the prospect of dressing to the nines and going to dinner. The girls were so kind to me and asked me if I wanted to be a playboy bunny when I grew up. Yes, I nodded eagerly I sure as hell did.
I mourned the demise of these glorious hangouts in the mid eighties and I still have the phrase “visit the grotto” on my bucket list to this day. This bizarre square peg in the round holes of my catholic upbringing never bothered me. I thought it was as right as rain.
So say what you want about the objectification of women and deny you spent any time watching The Girls Next Door (because admit it, even if you didn’t want to watch it, you couldn’t look away) but you’ve got to love the deep rich satin feel and color of each outfit and the lush white tail that framed a quickly sashaying ass on its way to get your drink.
And if you can’t get behind that, well then, I can’t party with you.