Walking down the streets of New York City in a Penthouse tank top may elicit any number of the following responses:
MEN:
You in the magazine? Which issue?
Nice tits and your face ain’t bad either.
Mmmm.Mmmm. Good.
That’s hot.
WOMEN:
My point exactly. Men see certain words like Penthouse (not in the apartment sense just in case you weren’t sure), Pussy and Playmate, and immediately, as long as the thing associated with these three things (women) turns them on, they get instant erection, just add water.
I haven’t been feeling very pretty lately. Being in the Czech Republic surrounded by a group of average age 25ers, made an almost 30 year old girl like me, feel more like the seahag. Then I boarded the Long Island Railroad back to Penn Station at approximately 2:20PM yesterday, and my luck began to change.
First there was the man sitting across from me. The one who wouldn’t let me get on with my Playgirl column, the column that is most definitely due by tomorrow morning. He talked about radio, working at the LIRR (which he did), and about me – cause, what’s more interesting than that?, no, really, I want to know. I began to feel good.
Other things happened over the course of the evening, and I felt like my old self, only not in an old sort of way. By the end of the night, let’s just say I had enough positive reinforcement to do some things I hadn’t been interested in doing in a long time. And I renewed a certain friendship that had ended ridiculously. Maybe it had to do with my Penthouse tank top, but I think it had more to do with my being back and being ready.
I don't care. Really. It felt great to feel great again. Even if the air smells like warm homeless man who hasn't bathed in five months and only drinks beer air, I am home.
Posted by jamye at August 15, 2021 09:06 PM