I’d Rather You Wear Fur Than Go Naked

No offense, of course.  But the number of people that I want to see naked is pretty short.

But this isn’t about nudity, it’s about fur.

Through no fault of my own, I have a fur coat.

It’s because I’m a nice and polite person which means that sometimes I have to lie nonstop just to keep the peace.

Take my mother-in-law, for example.

Three years ago, she said to me, “Take a look at my fur coat, it’s in the closet, do you like it?”

So of course, I said “yes.”  I mean, is saying “no” an option under these circumstances?  This is the woman who gave birth to Husbandrinka!  Without whom my beautiful children would not exist?  Am I supposed to disrespect her and defecate on her coat?

I couldn’t do it.

“Oh, good,” she said.  “I want you to have it.”  Because since they moved from New Jersey to North Carolina, it’s hasn’t been as chilly and she doesn’t need it.

“Thank you so much!” I said.  I put it on and was instantly transformed into Joan Collins.  It’s a very 80’s fur coat, with pronounced shoulders.  I put it in my closet and forgot about it.

I had no reason to wear it, really.  I use the subway most days and fur doesn’t seem to be subwaywear.

Besides, what if those PETA lunatics targeted me?  After what they’d done to poor Anna Wintour, I didn’t want to risk it.  The Devil and I both wore furs, after all.

“Did you have a chance to wear the fur?” my mother-in-law called to ask, circa 2007.

“Oh yes!” I told her, adjusting my tankini.

I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

But on Saturday night, as New York snowed as it hadn’t snowed since the last time it snowed, and we were headed out to a party, I donned the fur.  It fit like a glove.  A full-body-glove made of fur.

“You look like a beaver,” my daughter said.

“Or a brown bear,” Young Ladrinka piped in.  “Can you roar?”

“Roar,” I obliged.

It was soft.  It was warm. It was fantastic.

I need a hat to go with it.

I have my eye on Nicki.

One year ago ...

• I'm Right, You're Wrong! - 2010