Nothing to See Here

There was a copy of Playboy and a bar of 74% French chocolate on the table at work today. It was like the proverbial elephant in the room, with a Brazilian.

Actually, I was the only one seeing the elephant; the girls flipped through the magazine before dismissing it as boring, considering the notorious reputation. No one was sure exactly why the Playboy is there, except that it came from H, from the French room, who had just returned from a business trip to...well, France.

A risque practical joke? Anthropological evidence about those horndog Westerners? A few hours go by and I find the articles to be well-written. In the afternoon, M comes in and shrieks,"Oh, my Playboy!"

I gathered she had made a special request.

M, explaining: It's a magazine about beauty queens!

Vi: I don't know if they're beauty queens. Um, I think it's actually just... (The word for "strippers" had not yet come up in Vietnamese class) um, women who aren't wearing clothing.

Meanwhile, I can hear my co-workers discussing the magazine: He bought it in France! But it's an American magazine! What's the difference?

So, of course:

Q: Vi, what's the difference between the American and French version of Playboy?

*beat*

Vi: Um...I think maybe they have different pictures?

M, clutching the magazine: I'm going to take it home to my husband for him to see!