There’s something intrinsically pleasing in this age of political correctness to walk into a restaurant and hear, “Oh my God, is that real fur? How does she dare do that?” Of course it helps ones composure to be wearing spike heels, a full taffeta skirt, and be on the arm of a scary looking escort. I grew up in an age before farm bred animals had feelings. Well, maybe the industrious Little Red Hen did but she was allowed to keep her assets after she worked for them. Mary Kay did a “Think Pink, Think Mink” campaign that would have caused boycotts if they tried it 50 years later. (They don’t even do the pink anymore, it’s all silver now). I remember the year that my mother got a red fox half coat for Christmas. She was so excited. That coat still matches my hair but this year for Christmas, I got my own full length silver fox.
Now before you start thinking that I’m rich, I should say that my husband is on very familiar terms with eBay, sometimes too familiar. The cool thing is that inside the coat, are his and my initials. The day the package arrived, our beagle went nuts. The UPS man dropped off several packages (did I mention that eBay is my husband’s idea of the mall?). Mr. Darwin obligingly sniffed each box in our own version of homeland security until he came to the last one which was my coat. His nose worked double time, some primitive part of his brain kicked in and you could just see him thinking, “I recognize this scent, I know this scent, it’s supposed to be moving but when it stops there’s something I’m supposed to do, now what was it, oh yeah…” and he started to bay. My quiet beagle who doesn’t bark except on rare occasions was baying. He did that full-throated, straight from the movies, the fox is treed, calling the pack and the red coated hunters baying. I wish we had sound video of it. The box had to be removed to a locked room where dogs, kids and I couldn’t reach it. (Yes, I knew before Christmas – with a reaction like that you don’t think I didn’t check the Paypal records and then his auction purchases?)
But, back to last night…
When I was small and my mother didn’t want to go to the opera with Dad, I got to go. The opera was a sparkling place with jewelry and fur and designer dresses. It smelled of perfume and money. Die Fleidermaus was the first opera I remember seeing. No one has ever matched the jailer’s performance that I saw from Glen ?(get the last name from John before publishing)????? that night. I don’t know if it’s just my memory or the joy in the discovery of such a magnificent spectacle. I have several favorite opera’s now and The Magic Flute is one of them. Last night’s performance, however, was marred by the soprano’s failure to hit the high F in her 2nd aria. I admit I’m not the most musically literate, so when I can tell that someone’s flat, they have to be way off. The fun part of wearing my coat was I didn’t freeze in the first act, I was warm by intermission but the people next to my husband left so we could put it over there. The couple on my side was having their first date after getting engaged.
During intermission, I ran into some people I knew. One of them told me that she had a full length beaver that she leaves in her apartment back East because she’s afraid of the animal activists out West. Another said that she had dreamed of a fur as a girl but fears what her clients would think if they ever saw her in one now that she’s an adult.
I consider myself a pragmatist when it comes to the political spectrum. I believe that the first amendment gives both sides the right to believe what they feel is the truth. I believe that your right to express your opinion ends when you assault me or my property. I believe I have the right to express my opinion and my right ends if I injure someone or their property. Wearing a fur does not injure any human physically; it does not inflict damage on anyone’s property; I do not feel bad at the deaths of animals grown for the express purpose of being used by humans. In fact, I consider mink to be smelly, mean, nasty rodents who would be on the level of rats in the scheme of things if they didn’t happen to feel wonderfully soft and look luxurious on a woman’s back. I don’t like chinchilla coats because the live animal makes a great pet. It would be like wearing a guinea pig. That’s enough of spouting my views on a controversial issue. I’m old enough now that everyone’s entitled to my opinion. I just don’t have to cram it down their throats like young people do.