Pajamas and Coffee

Everyone is a whore at one point or another. There are subtle differences in payment amounts, services rendered, and so forth and so on, but like Billy Joel said- “Either way it’s okay, you wake up with yourself.”

I’m a married mother of four who works at home and doesn’t even make enough money to buy Ghirardhelli brownie mix unless it’s on sale, much less already-made, fancy pants cupcakes. This unfortunately often puts me in a position (heh) of virtual sexual slavery to my husband every time I need money for something. It’s humiliating. I mean, I grew up in the 80s watching like Candice Bergen in Murphy Brown and Melanie Griffith in Working Girl (along with Sigourney Weaver, plus all her other ass-kicking stuff) and Diane Keaton in Baby Boom and being taught that women bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never never let you forget you’re a man.

(Thanks bra-burners! Reject the domestic servitude of the 50s aproned housewives and tell our generation we were supposed to have BOTH careers and families, and then leave us to figure out how the hell to make that happen. You guys didn’t even like dudes.)

So I graduated from college and celebrated by starting to have kids, which I guess I shouldn’t have chosen if I wanted to wear big-shoulder-padded navy suits (that’s what they still wear, right?) and be a big corporate executive. My writing career began when my now high-schooler was an infant, and I wanted to be home with her, not drop her off at day care (which I couldn’t have afforded, anyway). Writing is a great way to make ‘extra’ money, but it basically means I drive a half-broken-down 2001 Jeep in which my entire family of 6 can’t even fit.

As an exhausted, broke woman, there are only a few select things deemed worthy of whoring myself out to my husband.

1.) Spa Services- Mama needs a pedicure. Bad. If there is a way to get a pedicure at the grocery store in lieu of Fruit Roll-Ups and dog food in order to hide the expense, please do tell. Trading face-down-on-mattress time for a full day spa with sugar salt scrub and an aromatherapy facial? Totally reasonable.

2.) Trips the Hell Out of Town- I need. To go away. Small town Maryland Eastern Shore living is charming about 20% of the time. The other 80%, I have running-away fantasies. Maine. Canada. Calgon, take me away, and I’m willing to break out the slutty heels to get there.

3.) Really.Good.Food. – I am not talking about Olive Garden, people. I am talking minimum four-star, expensive meat or seafood things with capers in lemon butter, Grey Goose Dirty Martini with feta-cheese stuffed olives, and something for dessert that makes you feel guilty for eating it because someone should have photographed it for the cover of Gourmet magazine. Now where is that lipstick?

4.) Shoes. I am adding shoes here although I have no experience whoring myself out for them, due to the fact that there are no good shoe stores anywhere around me here in the sticks, and I have nowhere to go anyway (unless wearing Jimmy Choos to soccer practice suddenly becomes fashionable). I have a feeling if I lived in an urban environment that involved regular viewings of a Christian Louboutin store, I would achieve porn star status in no time.

So what types of things do you guys catch some carpet burns for? Remember- we must be choosy… or else we will need knee pads every goddamn time we buy a People magazine.

Comment on.

I need a nap.