Enough with the Jokes, Already

This is serious, this business about perpetuating the species

Dear London friends,

Just arrived at Kennedy. The usual airline food--wilting bamboo shoots --and the usual pack of media jackals at the airport asking the usual dumb questions. What is it really like being a giant panda? Is it true that I've come all the way from London to have an interpanda relationship with what's-her-name at the National Zoo in Washington? Is it true that pandas know little about foreplay?

That last question really steamed me. It refers to a garbled report that panda sex takes place only in "an eyeblink." I thought of asking the bloke how long he and his wife take, but luckily I caught my tongue in time. Instead, I showed him the clipping from London saying that I do quite a bit of preliminary wrestling and light biting, just like Alex Comfort recommends. Except for the gentleman from the Times, who wanted to know my feelings about the Laffer Curve, everybody wants to talk about sex. All that locker-room chortling about my "mission of love," "my furry virility" and that old joke about "pandaring" by zoo officials.

Still, I've been lucky enough with the press so far. What with me leaving old Ching-Ching in London and coming here to make it with another guy's panda, they could have blown it up into some kind of jet-set panda-swapping scandal. The London papers verified my story that Ching-Ching hasn't been "in the mood" for over a year--the old headache routine, though in fairness they found she was suffering from peritonitis. What's a virile guy like me supposed to do? We're winning the war of words in D.C. too. Ling-Ling --that's my new love object--got her keeper to say that Hubby Hsing-Hsing is "just plain inept," and I like the Washington keeper's rugged sports metaphor, that Hsing-Hsing has to avoid hurt feelings like ''a football player when he's taken off the team."

One thing I don't get is why humans think pandas don't know about sex. They keep explaining how it's done, and I half think they'll be showing me illustrated pillows next. O.K., there's the fiasco of Chi-Chi and An-An, who couldn't get it on at the Moscow Zoo a few years back. But would you be relaxed on a honeymoon in Moscow? As for Washington, a covey of environmentalists has been invited to meet me and have some wine and cheese. And after my first date with wingding, they're planning a round-the-clock watch by volunteer voyeurs.

Try not to look down on the humans. They must be nervous because there are only about a thousand of us left, and only 35 or 50 in their zoos. I just hope they don't turn this beautiful thing between me and dingaling into something cheap. While we're at it, if there's a kid, I hope they don't call it Bing-Bing, Cong-Cong or any of those ca-ca double expressions. Why, just once, can't there be a panda named Archie or Bert? Got to go. We're pulling into Washington and a mob of Panda watchers are ready to pump me full of vitamins for the big day, probably some time in April or May. More about that later.

Yours,

Chia-Chia

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