#214 In which our hero considers boobs and the future of his daughters.
Meet the Satterfield triplets:
Rachel, Sarah and Vicki (in any order). The Plain Dealer ran an article about these potential super-stars last week. Like any small town girls, these future Rhodes Scholars have big dreams. As one of the brain-trust so skillfully articulated, “In our world, we’re celebrities. But we want to be famous.”
And they’re well on their way. The first step of their master plan was to drop out of high school. Then, when they were old enough, they started stripping at a local “Gentlemen’s Club” -- to earn enough money for breast implants.
And their mother couldn’t be more proud. She’s quoted as saying, “I told them when they were kids that they could be and do anything they wanted to.” You can almost hear her sigh deeply and add, “And what they wanted to do was take off their clothes for money.”
But, things are working out for these dyed-blond dim bulbs… they’re going to appear in Playboy next month!
“It was a dream come true,” said spokes-dummy Vicki. “We’re not shy, and it was something each of us have wanted to do since I can remember.”
“When they were putting us into position… I almost started crying,” added second blonde from the left. "I just couldn’t believe we were getting our photos taken by Playboy!”
Now, who am I to fault these women desiring fame and fortune, huh? Plenty of women have started out as models and gone on to have big careers in film. Not that these geniuses want to do that. Their dream is become Playmates and live in the Playboy mansion in California. If that doesn’t pan out, they might become “women of the World Wrestling Federation.” And if that falls through, they’ll just strip at an “upscale club in Las Vegas.”
Ah, to be young and full of limitless ambitions!
When I first read their story I thought good call Playboy; who doesn’t want to see naked triplets? I mean, it’s six boobs for the price of one, right?
But then, once again, I was reminded of just how much my attitude about such things has changed since becoming a father.
Now I can’t read about these dim-bulb sisters without thinking of my own daughters--not that my kids are dumb; quite the opposite. The Scientist and I have talked about the girls’ futures… we hope for the best, of course. We want them to go to college (or rather, we want them to want to go), get a degree and then a decent-paying job in their field. And we also want them to be happy. This is especially important to my wife, being that she spent about eight years working in labs just for a paycheck, with little to no job satisfaction (I, on the other hand, have always wanted to be a copywriter and have been mostly happily employed as such since I finished school). And if they don’t want to go to college, but want to be, I dunno, landscapers, and it makes them happy… can I really be that bothered by it? Well, I can, of course, but if they’re happy in their jobs The Scientist will be correct in telling me to just shut my pie hole and smile.
But man, do I worry about the future. What will happen to my girls? I’m sure no father ever looked at his adorable three-year-old and thought, “yeah, she’s going to be a crack whore when she grows up.” But there’s plenty of crack whores in the world, y’know? I often say that I want them to start a musical or acting career so they can be super rich and The Scientist and I can be their managers a skim a healthy amount off the top. But then, I read about the scary craziness of Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan and I suddenly, that’s not so funny any more. Yeah, those girls are rich… but they’re also way out of control. One car ride away from a trip to the morgue. So I think I’m done with that joke.
Now, if they could discover a cure for cancer and patent it and make billions that way… I’d be okay with that.
Or, if they just did a really good job mowing my grass.