Dec 6, 2012 No Comments ›› Dinah Tellya
US Weekly: Well, this is nice. Though the marriage was called off once in 2011, it seems that 86-year-old Hugh Hefner and his 26-year-old fiancée, Playboy’s Miss December 2009 Crystal Harris, are finally going to tie the knot at the end of this month. Yes, the couple went and got their marriage license in Beverly Hills and have set the date for New Year’s Eve, which will be festive, because Hugh will already be dressed up like Father Time, as is his duty every year. Look, it’s bad to be down on love, but what is really going on here? To put things in perspective, Hugh has a child who is 34 years older than his soon-to-be wife. So what’s everyone getting out of this? Hef gets to feel like a cool, sexy daddio for a bit longer, I guess. Crystal gets the attention that all this news brings, which can’t hurt. But does she get any money, y’know, if the unthinkable happens? Probably not. But I’m sure she’s well aware of that at this point. Hef’s been around the bunny block a few too many times to not have tucked his money safely under his captain’s hat. Not that, like, all these Playboy models are gold-digging gross-os — I’m sure some of them are lovely young women who do what they do for a variety of perfectly valid and understandable reasons. But the one that’s marrying him when he is sixty years older than her? Girl must have some kind of agenda, right? It’s probably just attention. She can always be Hugh Hefner’s wife this way. For the rest of her life, whenever anyone asks, she gets to tell them. That probably sets her up for something. And, again, Hefner gets to feel virile and hep-catty again even though, woof, he hasn’t been any of those things in a long, long time. Here’s a question: What do you think the Playboy Mansion smells like? I imagine something antiseptic, a heavy, ubiquitous cleaning product, mixing with a medicine smell, definitely a medicine smell, and, like, tomato sauce? Vegetable soup? You know that kind of gross warm V8 smell? That’s what I’m imagining. But you imagine your own Playboy Mansion smell. That’s all you or I can do at this point, really.