Crazy Girls is a typical Vegas-style stage show at the Riviera Hotel and Casino. Tacky and over the top; but you would expect that on the Strip. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Apparently, many of the patrons over time saw fit to pat the seven damsels' bronze butts for good luck, to the point of them being particularly more shiny than the rest of the figure. Or, they could be taking an opportunity to act slightly daring without getting slapped by a live butt owner! If I was accompanying someone and he patted one of the bronze butts, how would I react?
I guess it would depend on how many drinks I had. After all, it's not my butt. But if an escort of mine was being overtly familiar with bronze butts would be unsettling. Does this molestation of a mid-relief group constitute sexism and disrespect to women, who are known to have real butts and rumored to have them even in Boston? Does this augur badly for a long-term relationship? Will he graduate to flesh-and-blood butts soon?
But this thought is intriguing: why do some people get drawn to caressing statues in such a lewd fashion, and why might others be embarassed or offended by their doing so? It's not that I disapprove of butt-squeezing. Dee-Doh occasionally gives me a friendly, non-so-Platonic squeeze on mine; and I must admit that I enjoy it more than I should. But maybe I should not say any more about it, other than to say that there is a statue of Juliet in Verona that has an unusually shiny left breast. I wonder how the Shakespearean character would have felt about that?