Marilyn and Audrey

I may have mentioned (with the regularity of a tolling bell) that I like old-school women. And by that, I mean women with some meat on them, women whose bodies are soft and lush, that fill one's hands and are defined by gentle curves, who fire the imagination and make the heart leap up into the throat. No Stepford cookie-cutter women, but women whose bodies are almost designed as one-of-a-kind mysteries to explore and wonder over, women with unabashed smile lines, whose bodies are burnished to a fine glow by life, experience, pain, joy, and grace, and all of it reflected in the maps of their flesh.

I know real (non-celebrity) women like that, and they're women I'd walk over the Victoria's Secret Angels with cleats to be anywhere around. If we must consider current celebrities, Kate Upton is a so-so (too plastic) current example of "pretty close" general morphology. Christina Hendricks is better.

But for the best, you gotta stick with the real women who are out here living their lives, the real girls next door. The women who are the misery and joy of the real men in the world.

For the celebrity versions, of course, the only real choice is to go back to the originals, the early attempts to package the atavistic drive men have, or at least I have, to dive into a kind of sensual excess that acknowledges there is more there than I can consume at a single sitting, while still lighting the howling fire in me to try.

Now, I am unclear on how my children became aware of this predilection of mine. Even less how it is that they understand my "thing" for bad girls. (The women I'm describing above move from powerful and pleasant fantasies into utterly irresistible when they have just the right tinge of sleazy/sexy attitude.) But however it happened, one of my kids gave me the below picture the other day printed on canvas and board-stretched, ready to mount. It doesn't even need a frame:

I've seen this around the internet, and had mentioned it before, probably in the context of old-school hot women. But who knew my kids actually listened to me rambling on? I love it. If the Beneficiary would put up with it, it would be in the living room. (She, incidentally, likes it -- it just doesn't go with her decorating style.)

So, it's going to be hanging in my office before the end of the week. The only question is whether it will be in my home office (probably) or my work office (if they'll put up with it.)