Life takes Playboy to Dartmouth. Or something like that. In a few days, I’ll figure out the name of this beautiful blonde — plenty beaucoup with her clothes on, even (as in other photos) in pearls.

She’s so beautiful that, even without looking particularly French, she introduces the possibility of France to the equation. She’s the headmistress of a lycée at Bordeaux, perhaps, that has just taken the undergraduate on, for a summer term of English-language instruction….

On the other hand, for sheer anatomical interest, it’s doubtful that the young lady’s gazumbas are more high-concept than the young man’s jaw. What insurance company did he wind up ruling? Can you believe how eager he looks, on his own home turf no less?

I hope that Ms Playboy married well — very well. If we had only stared into her fabulous face for a while, the Sixties might have been avoided (but for Civil Rights, of course).

I almost hope that she became a patron saint of the Dartmouth Review.  But I say that only to annoy (amiably!) my Dartmouth cousins. (via  Ivy Style)

Drop me a line at rjk@dailyblague.com
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