What happens when you shack up with the oldest playboy in America?
Apparently, not much.
For a year now I've been indulging in a guilty boob-tube pleasure... setting my TIVO for The Girls Next Door, the reality-based account of Hugh Hefner and his three platinum "girlfriends" Holly, Bridget and Kendra. They're delightfully oblivious to the actual real world, as they order room service, shop for designer g-strings and buckle up in the Playboy jet for jaunts to Monte Carlo.
On the surface, it's simply ducky. But as I've dipped my toe in the Playboy pool over the past few months, a sad little trend has emerged as an undercurrent in the girls' daily lives.
The youngest, 22-year-old Kendra, clearly feels her hormones kicking in; she's the breast-flashing, skirt-flipping tease on almost any occasion where there are attractive men present. In a recent episode, she railed at the girls' 9PM curfew. Bridget, the most demure of the group, would fit in at the local PTA. Hef's main squeeze, the ambitious Holly, does share the king's bed... but in flannel PJs and with a bowl of popcorn.
A blind man couldn't miss the irony. Hooked up with the man who practically invented the sexual revolution and the closest these bunnies get to satisfaction is their Rabbit. (See battery-operated boyfriend.)
What's a MILF to think? That LA's finest surgical enhancements, pricey sex-kitten duds and peroxide do not a sex life make.
So to the "girls" and Grandpa, I say, "It's your cage, welcome to it."
To my own decidedly less glamorous but genuine "let's go" sex-style, I say "Hallelujah!"
Because you know what they say. There's no business like "go" business!