Yesterday, The Card's Wife implored me to say something nice today about the Superbowl being in Detroit. Ok, Card's Wife, this one is for you.
This morning after dropping off Little Bertie and Roger Kimball's future daughter-in-law at school I decided to do a drive by the house Hugh Hefner, and the three interchangeable blondes he currently shares his bed with, had leased for the Superbowl. I was hoping to see the happy foursome at breakfast. Naturally, Hugh, the eternal Playboy, with his hair, what little he has left, combed to the side, would be sitting at the head of his table wearing a velvet smoking jacket and silk ascot with his dentures properly attached to his gums by a generous squirt of Polident. Hugh would be sipping his French Roast and checking his investments in the Wall Street Journal while awaiting his scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and toasted brioche. The 3 blondes, would be seated around him with their hair perfectly coiffed, and adorned in matching baby pink, diaphanous pegnoir sets. The blondes would be sipping mimosas from crystal flutes, nibbling on strawberries, and enjoying the gorgeous morning on the lake while Hugh happily tucked into his morning meal.
What caught my eye first as I approached Hugh's place were the limp helium balloon bouquets attached to the topiaries, sluggishly waving around in the wind. As I got closer I spied Hugh's rented black Hummer in the circular drive and thought, "Aha, they're home." The Hummer was parked at a very odd angle, and soon I was able to discern that both the headlights and roof lights were still on. As there was not a car behind me, I was able to slow way down to get a good look of Hugh Hefner at breakfast with his blondes. But there was no Hugh Hefner in his smoking jacket and ascot dining with his blondes in the dining room window. The entire house was dark. Obviously, Hugh was still fast asleep in his bed, wearing nothing but his Depends, with his teeth on the bedside table next to his watch. Some playboy.