You Don't Have To Put On The Red Light


Ask my friends and they'll tell you that I have been toying with the idea of prostitution for awhile now. Faced with the ugly truth that I can't support my ramen and whiskey fueled lifestyle with legitimate paychecks any longer, the time came to look to my other assets. Which I did, only to discover I have alarmingly few (thank you, liberal arts education). And then one day, pondering my personal economic crisis and wandering the dirty streets of Humboldt Park for my own filthy reasons, I noticed two hookers, sipping as sexily as one can on 7/11 slurpees, get picked up by a striking man in a white Cadillac. Hello, meal ticket. I might not look the part, but show me a Frederick's of Hollywood, a pair of Candies slingbacks and somewhere to stash my self-respect and Catholic upbringing, and you'd have a passing whore working the corners of Logan Square. You're welcome, gentlemen; world.

I proposed the career change to my urban family. First they laughed. Then they paused. Then they began listing the cons to my spectacular idea: disease, murder, drugs, arrests, vile pimps (like that handsome fucker up there), a whole slew of mental abuse issues, botched back alley abortions, blah blah blah. But there remained the tremendous pro of tax free dollars and not having to know how to make a goddamn spreadsheet in Excel to move up in the world. What eventually broke me was the surfacing of memories from one weird night in which I was mistaken for a legitimate hooker no less than three times, and actually found myself praying to whatever God was punishing me to spare me from what seemed to be my certain abduction, rape, and death by dismembering. No joke.

After that, the whole sex thing fell by the wayside. But what remained was the problem of my bank account and my laziness. I still wanted to make a quick buck. I reevaluated. Certainly there was a way to whore yourself to the world without actually putting a P in a V. After a triumphant weekend of lending shoulders to cry on, posing as a sounding board, and helping with all sorts of friendly issues, it became clear that my greatest contribution to the human race would be to act as its friend. It's best friend even, if it was willing to pay that much. Here's one satisfied friend's testimonial: "I've had a lack of best friends in my life, and I enjoy talking to Erin so much because she has the ability to fill all of the roles that were always seperated into different people....she's like the one-stop shopping of friends." -Jake M., friend

Couldn't have said it better myself. You too, Reader, can be as lucky as that fine gentleman. For a nominal fee, I will allow you to rent out my friendly skills. Need a shoulder to lean on? A date to a high school reunion? Want to go see a movie, but too afraid to go alone? Have an extra ticket to the ball game? Afraid of looking like a loser on a Saturday night? Dying to try a new restaurant? Just want to spend a nice evening building a fort out of couch cushions in your living room and telling ghost stories?

Have I got a deal for you.

1 Response on "You Don't Have To Put On The Red Light"

  1. Austin says:

    Somehow those gold pants need to be involved in any hooking scheme that happens among us.

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