WordType Designs
Driven To Distractions©
The Sound of One Hand Clapping©


A rchive Date
[ 02-07-2000 ]
Category
[ International Relations ]
sub-Categoy
[ Canada ]

      [This month's centrefold
      By RACHEL SA
      Toronto Sun
      July 1, 2000

      You want what?!"

      Okay, so it's not every day that a father hears his little girl ask him to bring her home a copy of Playboy, but isn't there a first time for everything?

      "You're serious?" he asked.

      Yes, I'm serious.

      Look, as soon as I heard that Darva Conger was planning to bare all for Playboy readers, I knew I had to put my two cents in about it. You all remember Darva don't you? She's the emergency-room nurse who wed motivational speaker and real estate developer Rick Rockwell on Fox's wholesome family show Who Wants To Marry a Multimillionaire? earlier this year. Sadly, their storybook romance ended in an annulment a short time later. I still cry myself to sleep at night thinking of what might have been.

      But in this case, I realized I couldn't start the ritualistic mocking of the blushing bride until I had actually read the article in Playboy (that magazine has articles? No way!)

      No, I didn't call my dad first (although if I had thought about it I probably would have - he certainly didn't mind going on this little errand).

      I first called our fab News Research Centre here at the Sun - the fountain of all knowledge. I knew the ladies there would at least understand why I would want to get my hands on a copy of the magazine and I wouldn't have to deal with any weird looks.

      But alas, there was not a copy to be found.

      "I think it was 'held up' in the mailroom," I was told.

      Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

      "Oh man ..." I suddenly realized I was on my own with this one. The prospect of venturing out in public in search of some (albeit mild) smut wasn't exactly thrilling to me. In an age when people can freely download vast libraries of porn from the privacy of their home computers, I knew I would look even stranger to be out and about looking for the old-fashioned, tactile stuff.

      So I did the only thing that could possibly make the whole excursion easier (no, not dark glasses and a hat - although in retrospect that would have been a smashing idea), I dragged my mom out with me.

      "Why do I have to go? It's your column, go get your own porn!" But she finally relented on the pretense that she had to run out to the mall and grab a few things. I know she really just wanted a peek at the magazine.

      A session of mother-daughter bonding at its most bizarre.

      First stop: Wal-Mart. Fat chance. They had a huge magazine rack, but no smut. Darn! With that first minor setback, mom ditched me and went off to do her own thing. I tried the little convenience store on the other side of the mall - the same place where I used to buy Gobstopper candies and bubble-gum toothpaste when I was a wee one. The nostalgia was so thick I almost got misty-eyed. Now I was tripping over kids as I searched the naughty section of the magazine rack. Again, no nude Darva was to be found. Ditto for the Coles bookstore and the Rabba supermarket up the street. At this point my mom simply waited in the car - great moral support - as I ran in to each place and flipped through the magazines under the watchful eyes of the clerks.

      By the last stop I had grown desperate, and it must have truly weirded out the clerks to see the young girl with the eager gleam in her eye ask for a copy of Playboy.

      "You mean PlayGIRL?" One of them asked, a little too hopefully.

      "No! Look, forget it!" You should have seen the looks on their faces when I asked for a stool to search the highest shelves of their dusty bookshelf. Penthouse, Playgirl (!) And Hustler, but no Playboy.

      I finally gave up and decided to call my dad. But it was too late, I know the whispering has already started.

      Damn you, Darva Conger! Wasn't it bad enough that you had the marriage annulled - thus ruining my lofty aspiration to marry a multimillionaire on a subsequent episode of the show? And now thanks to you, I'm sure my entire neighbourhood is buzzing about my relentless hunt for girlie magazines.

      Letters to the editor should be sent to editor@sunpub.com


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