As for "petting" parties, I must admit that I am unfamiliar with that particular species of entertainment. Perhaps, as the Sagette mentions, it is safest to engage in indiscriminate petting only with those animals considered small and safe--such as hamsters, flop-eared bunnies (and the other kind, too, but flop-ears are my favorites), and--especially--cats. Why, I myself adore cats entirely, and I have just become the proud owner of a new kitten, whom I have named Johanna (after Johanna Sebastia Bach, of course). She seems to be getting along splendidly with the other two kitties who grace my abode in Amazonia; one is a Siamese matriarch whom I named Madame Butterfly; the other is a scruffy little tabby, a stray I picked up on a visit to relatives in Vintesse--her name is Treemonisha. And if anyone would like to have a petting party, I daresay that I and my darling kitties would be delighted to come. I would have to warn the hostess, though, that Madame Butterfly is very fond of hamsters, and so perhaps segregated petting parties would be best. (I'm not sure she wouldn't go after flop-eared bunnies, too).
As for fur-wearing, I am afraid I side with Barbi on that one. I am no vegetarian, and no scorner of the hunt--after all, am I not named after THE huntress, the beautiful Diana? And am I not (at least half) Amazonian? But I encourage only the useful chase, the non-wasteful hunt. And since I do not eat mink (it is a relative of skunk, and tastes it, my dears), I do not wear mink. I eat beef, so I will certainly indulge in a pair of lovely leather pumps and a matching bag; and because I have been known to taste venison, rabbit, and goat, I have no qualms about deerskin carpets (although I draw the line at mounted heads--what a waste of perfectly good culinary material!), rabbit-fur trim on my hat, and kidskin gloves. I do not consider this a result of the Pit's influence; I consider it a natural result of a non-wasteful policy with regard to life's necessities, which are, of course: air, food, water, and shelter. And also tickets to La Bohème.
Barbi, would you be interested in going fleeming with me? For while you are asking my advice about the real world (which I'm not sure I'm qualified to give, but I'll try!), I would love to ask your advice about fashion--and about which red outfit would flatter me the most. I think that would be a fit usage of both our talents!
But isn't this concept of waste a touch -em - notional. I mean, when you find a darling fox-fur in a fleem, the waste would surely lie in not using it. But, of course, Amazonians - at least the Eastern ones - wear furs for quite different reasons from us. I once met an Amazonian Princess from somewhere east of Rayapurh, who wore not a silver crown with Emeralds but a vixen's head with brush and paws, and she explained she was the Great Vixen of the fox-folk, and they held that a fox slain by her people was raised up to Nimwë the Celestial Vixen. I was much impressed by the wisdom of these people, and believe that there is much more to their beliefs than superficial people might think. To them, of course, the hunt is primarily a ritual; a re-enactment of the Primordial Hunt of Janhë (Diana), which is ultimately the reciprocal hunt of the soul for the Spirit and of the Spirit for the soul.
In any case, Nimwë is but a name for Sai Mati in Her fox-form, so they are not so very far from our own Western beliefs after all.
To explain properly about the Fountain of youth, it would be necessary to tell you all about the Babes in the Wood, but since we have had that yarn on an earlier occasion, I shall merely say that its name is taken from the lines:
And they found that the Fountain of Youth
Was a mixture of gin and vermouth.
No, we don't pronounce vermouth that way, either.
If we are to reclaim femininity, we can start by reclaiming beauty.
We absolutely agree. But why "unadorned"? Maid has adorned herself since the dawn of time. That is part of her natural (or rather supernatural) femininity. For is not all earthly beauty the reflection of the Primordial beauty of Dia Herself?
Well...I tried! I really tried! I was just going to say those two things and go away, but, well, I'm just bubbling over with so much babble and it's so exciting to have so many of you speak up that, really, once again...I'm just...almost speechless...
Miss Barbara, you have lifted my spirits and gained my undying devotion. It's not you who might be my servant, but I who should be yours. And my sweet sagette...how I am indebted to your gentle wisdom to clarify my own confused thoughts...but, then...what other kinds of thoughts could a blonde possibly have? Some people, I have heard, don't think that blondes have any thoughts at all! And my amiable Amy de Culver, where can I find some of the wonderful lyrics that adorn the walls of the Cocktail Bar from time to time. Any idea, darling? I would love to have some of those little ditties whirling around in my head to chase my blues away. And, my magical Mousy...spelling errors? If you supposed that I write like this without the help of a spell checker, please, my precocious pette, think again! And besides, who's checking, anyway? Not me, that's for sure. And, furthermore, I, for one, would love to hear your thoughts...it's much nicer than watching you stare into that Blonde Bombshell that you've been nursing...and I have noticed, you know! My marvelous Mary...you've been so quiet, too, darling! Rest assured, my sweet, your blonde advice about reputations is well taken by me, but, after all...what else did you expect from a recoveringPit-maiden? The future fate of my panties...quite lovely ones, too, I must say...will be strictly a private matter. My sizzling Shirley, I promise to be as silly, fluffy, and delicious as I can from now on. And Daisy Mae...a mink? Some of us vegetarians know that the New 1950's are a lot like the old 1950's, but...how about a little imitation fur? Or...possibly...NO...fur? I have a lovely cashmere overcoat that you would look just lovely in, my precious pette, if I could persuade you to give it a try!
La!...I hope that I haven't forgotten anyone, and, if I have...Please, my lovely ladies, forgive me. Sorority like this so brightens a pette's life!
And last, but most certainly not least, my delicate darling, Diana! You are positively glowing with beautiful, brunette energy! That sensational smile is absolutely electrifying. I don't believe that there is a blonde in the house that could resist you. But now that you've discovered your true nature, perhaps, you might like to help me, instruct me, as it were, about something, such as...oh...the ingredients in a Blonde Bombshell, or the sort of thing that goes on at petting parties like Mary mentioned. Are those parties with "pettes" at them? Isn't that what happens here at the Cocktail Bar all the time? Brunettes are supposed to know these things, aren't they? Oh...did you ever get your monogrammed hankie back? And, by the way...a daring red dress would look absolutely gorgeous on you...it would match the fire in your eyes...What are you doing, darling? You're not looking in your purse for your baton, are you?
Gratefully, respectfully, and most affectionately, I remain,
But Sweeti - we can't all take our furs off with winter setting in! But you may be reassured to know that all our furs come from the "old 1950s" or earlier.
We think it is important to consider this question. The campaign against fur is essentially a campaign against the Superior Woman. Otherwise why all the Pit-fuss about fur and none about leather? The truth is that leather has a social status acceptable to Pit-ideology and fur has not; and also leather represents the rough masculinity beloved of the Pit, while fur has always been a symbol of feminine confidence, elegance and superiority - absolutely forbidden in the Pit. This is the real issue. Of course, if you are a vegetarian you may not wish to wear fur yourself, but you presumably accept that eating meat or wearing leather shoes are matters of personal choice for others. If you feel differently about fur, perhaps you should consider why this is. There is no logical difference, but the Pit has spent a lot of time in hypocritical anti-fur agitation. And we all know why.
We have a lovely maggie from New Trent that advertises hundreds of Little Blue Books all in a special series one thousand six hundred and eighty-four of them actually; they are only five cents each (about tuppence ha'penny) and they have titles like How 'Wicked is Hollywood, Making Men Happy with Jams and Jellies (an art perfected, we understand, by Messrs. Laurel and Hardy), Facts about California, Desert Island Adventures - well, you know the sort of thing. No I am not actually wandering. You see one of these books is called Are Petting Parties Dangerous? So I suppose one would learn all about such matters there. We rather supposed that whether they were dangerous or not would depend on what sort of pets were present. Hamsters and Pekingeses would probably be safe enough, but lynxes and boa constrictors might cause more excitement than was strictly pleasant. Oh, and there is another book called Clever Sayings about Kissing. I wonder if we could get a copy of that through the Iron Curtain.
We hate to seem confusing, but whether one is blonde or brunette is not actually anything to do with hair colour! Don't worry, you'll pick it up as you go along!
Did I quote Bianca Crosby singing "It's been a long, long time?" I'd been planning that one for days. I didn't sing it, did I? Oh. golliwogs, was my voice terrible?
An, oh, double-golliwogs, I didn't say that business about going on a world cruise with a wonderful brunette, did I? Oh tell me if I really said it. No, on second thoughts, don't tell me. I was wanting to tell you pettes that story for weeks, but honestly, I must soberly confess it - well, golliwogs, it isn't absolutely true, exactly. I mean really, the reason I've been out of circulation is - well, I did a bit badly in my January exams last year and - well, you see I desperately want to go to Milchford when I leave school, so - well, I've just been swotting, that's all.
There, should I have said that? Or should I have stuck to my romance? What do you think dear Mrs. de Culver? If I should, do you think we could get the censorette to strike that last paragraph off the record. Oh, wolligogs, I don't know. I couldn't go on fib - romancing now I've confessed, could I?
Hello, Miss Barbara! hello! hello! Do please come and buy me a
drink. You needn't be frightened. I'm not a bit in love with you any more.
I mean, oh, don't take that the wrong way. I admire you terribly, of course
I do. But I won't be a nuisance. I mean it's completely Socratic or whatever
they say. And if you want to flirt with Ariadne, of course you must. She's
prettier than I and more mature and everything. But Ariadne, you mustn't
mind me calling you mature the way you seemed to before. I don't mean old,
You know Ariadne, don't you? Oh. How about you? Really? You mean there's a whole Cocktail Bar generation growing up who haven't even heard of Ariadne! Golliwolliwogs! It has been a long, long time!
Well, of course you new girls haven't seen the place in its great days. I knew it back when - well, when it was really somewhere to go.
And Janet! Yes, dear old Janet. I bet hardly any of you can remember Janet. She was an admirer of mine, you know back in the days when this really was a Cocktail Bar. But you're all so young - in Cocktail Bar terms, I mean.
Oh, please, Miss Barmaid, just one more Pink Lady. I haven't had enough really. I've got a dreadfully strong head. Look, I'm not getting garry - garra - I'm not getting too talkative, am I?
I say, I'll pipe down and let some of the new girls talk. I don't see why we old hands should monopolise the convo, do you?
Oh, Miss Barbara, may I rest my head on your shoulder just for a mome? I promise I'm not being embarrassing. I'm just the teensiest bit tired, that's all. You can flirt with Ariadne while my head's on your shoulder. I shan't mind a bit. Shan't mind. Oh no, Ariadne not here. Forgot. Giggle.
Dateline: 13 November 1951 Quirinelle Time
How lovely to see you back after such a long time away. You could tell the new pettes a thing or two about what happens when a brunette is a bit too forward in this very Cocktail Bar, couldn't you? Or I 'spose Janet more rightly could say precisely what happens to said brunettes. So, if you girlies know what's good for you, you'll keep that maidenly modesty in top form or something may happen, you never know what, but it will happen, and we'll all have to vote on it again, and, well, it might not be very pleasant in the end (if you know what I mean).
But, since I'm a blonde and a married one at that, I don't have to worry too much about such things. And I did promise to tell you about taking an obsolete house and transforming it into a real hestia, a true sanctuary from the Pit. So here I am to do just that. Well, the idea is "out with the obsolete and in with the up-to-date" and the philosophy behind the idea is that design is propaganda. See, there is a reason why just about everything made in Telluria before the Eclipse is lovely, with nice round edges and feminine curves and swirls. Right now I am looking at my adorable Kadorian fridge, a four-foot-tall Gibson, with rounded edges and perfectly Art-Neo silver hinges. It is so beautiful because it came from a beautiful world. So, to create a sanctuary from the Pit, one should begin to fill one's home with beautiful things from before the Eclipse: furniture, music, appliances, etc. & etc. And the more your home transforms in this way, the more images you will have around you for your eyes to rest upon and your heart to find sanctuary in. More later, dear pettes!
AMY de CULVER (MRS.)
blonde from New Trent
Believe me pettes a Mink is plenty of protection for a girl, so's diamonds frilly underthings chocolate cake bright red lipstick nights on the town weekends in the Hamptons trips to Paris and shopping. All those'r' blonde Essentials really! Those brainy sagettes could have other ideas I suppose but I know.
But, La! I almost forgot to tell you 'bout the dime on the floor. Well it used to be a little "X" made of band-aids stuck to just the right spot on the floor but it kept coming off so I glued a dime down instead which hasnt come off yet. If I open the mirror door on the medicine cabinet over the sink and swing it out just so then if I stand on this dime I can see my shoulders and back without twisting my head and if I put a stool right over the dime then stand on the stool I can see my derrière too! almost like in a store. It sure would be nice to have a real three-way mirror, but a girl must do with Dea has given her, they say. Sometimes thats a Mink I guess so a girl should never complain. But protection? Little ol me? Thanks, darlings Ive got all I need at the mome.
PS And what is this Pit everyone keeps talking about anyway?
Now, pettes, you mustn't snicker or think Daisy Mae too shallow or silly, she really is a Very Good Girl and a rather well-known blonde-about-Gotham, in fact. Samantha Kaye and her Kaye-dettes (who do perform at the Commodore) even play a jinky number about her, called Honey. The words go like this:
"Hey, listen to my story
'Bout a gal named Daisy Mae, lazy Daisy Mae
Her disposition is rather sweet and charming
At times alarming
So they say
She has a pette who's tall-dark-'n'-handsome, rich and strong
To whom she used to sing this song:
I want a diamond ring
Honey, you wanna get the best for me!
Hey, Honey, Gee! Won't I look swell in sables
Clothes with Paris labels!
Honey, you wanna get the best for me!
Hey, Honey, I want a brand-new car
Honey, you wanna get the best for me!
This amazing revelation:
With a bit of stimulation
I'd be a great sensation
I'd be your inspiration!
Honey! Honey! You wanna get the best for me!'" (Lah-dah!)
Barbi there is something you ought to understand. The way you've been talking lately, especially what you said about your panties last night. Well, darling, don't you know? Talk like that might make you sort-of popular with a certain sort of brunette. But they won't respect you, and they certainly won't marry you.
No, Sweeti, I am not a prude. I know all about petting parties and that sort of thing. But the whole point is to go Far Enough without going Too Far, and believe me, honey, anything that involves the loss of panties is going quite a bit Too Far.
Don't worry, you can have lots of jinks, but remember you've got
to tread the fine line and keep your balance. A blonde's reputation is
one of her most important possessions.
Some one has described Aristasia as "one long conversation". Well, Aphrodite is rather like that. If you want to catch up on the conversation so far, the Archive is the place to do it.
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