Pour some sugar on me
I know I'll likely get crucified for this one, but recently I've been toying with the notion that goes somewhere along the lines of "wouldn't be great to have a sugar daddy?"
*Could that scrambling sound I hear actually be mud being scooped up for eager slinging..?*
Of course, this has everything to do with the fact that I spent the evening shopping with Celestia.
"someday", I sighed, "I'll mozy into Cartier, lean over the glass, point languidly and purr, 'I'll have that one'."
It could happen.
But considering I'm still eligible for neither a credit card nor income tax, it may not happen quite as soon as I'd like to hope for.
Enter: the sugar daddy idea.
As we trawled the upper storeys of the mall looking at the Celine's and Jimmy Choo's of our dreams, it dawned on me that perhaps I've overlooked one of the most obvious solutions to my shopping inadequacies.
After all, I won't enjoy the privilege of youth forever, nor the physical luxuries that come with it. Not to mention the fact that I do a mean girlish giggle, among other things.. Why, as it is I quite happily slip on my garters and thigh-highs upon request, imagine how much more pleasurable an experience it would be if there were money involved? I love one as much as the other, may as well kill two birds!
Immediately my brain started going down a list of potential benefactors. As my brow started to knot from imagining what they might possibly look like naked, she interrupted with the question: "But could you sleep with a fifty year old?"
Well Richard Gere is around there, isn't he..
Anyway, we came up with some imaginary groundrules: He'd have to be no more than twenty years older, with a body that hasn't gone south yet, and he'd have to be someone whose company we actually enjoyed.
But wait, wouldn't we run the risk of being seen out with our uh, uncle, by people just waiting to connect the dots between him and our swish new Chanel outfits? This is Singapore, after all. You can only walk around Orchard Road so many times before you start bumping into your colleague's friend's brother's girlfriend.
Then she started telling me about how she'd met a man in New York who'd offered a private, all-expense paid extension on her vacation. And then it clicked: What the hell am I still doing here when I could be meeting the sugardaddy of my dreams in another country where no-one would give a damn, and I'd enjoy the status of being tres-exotique as well?
~~~
"Oh yes, I'd love another glass of Verve as we sit here sunning naked here on beautiful Mykonos island, ma cherie!"
(Viagra would have to be the name of the pomeranian he'd buy me to carry around everywhere.)
~~~
And for that matter it suddenly it doesn't seem so impossible that I'll win the big sweep either... Sigh.
Damnit Celestia! Next time we go shopping we're sticking to Far East Plaza, okay?
*Could that scrambling sound I hear actually be mud being scooped up for eager slinging..?*
Of course, this has everything to do with the fact that I spent the evening shopping with Celestia.
"someday", I sighed, "I'll mozy into Cartier, lean over the glass, point languidly and purr, 'I'll have that one'."
It could happen.
But considering I'm still eligible for neither a credit card nor income tax, it may not happen quite as soon as I'd like to hope for.
Enter: the sugar daddy idea.
As we trawled the upper storeys of the mall looking at the Celine's and Jimmy Choo's of our dreams, it dawned on me that perhaps I've overlooked one of the most obvious solutions to my shopping inadequacies.
After all, I won't enjoy the privilege of youth forever, nor the physical luxuries that come with it. Not to mention the fact that I do a mean girlish giggle, among other things.. Why, as it is I quite happily slip on my garters and thigh-highs upon request, imagine how much more pleasurable an experience it would be if there were money involved? I love one as much as the other, may as well kill two birds!
Immediately my brain started going down a list of potential benefactors. As my brow started to knot from imagining what they might possibly look like naked, she interrupted with the question: "But could you sleep with a fifty year old?"
Well Richard Gere is around there, isn't he..
Anyway, we came up with some imaginary groundrules: He'd have to be no more than twenty years older, with a body that hasn't gone south yet, and he'd have to be someone whose company we actually enjoyed.
But wait, wouldn't we run the risk of being seen out with our uh, uncle, by people just waiting to connect the dots between him and our swish new Chanel outfits? This is Singapore, after all. You can only walk around Orchard Road so many times before you start bumping into your colleague's friend's brother's girlfriend.
Then she started telling me about how she'd met a man in New York who'd offered a private, all-expense paid extension on her vacation. And then it clicked: What the hell am I still doing here when I could be meeting the sugardaddy of my dreams in another country where no-one would give a damn, and I'd enjoy the status of being tres-exotique as well?
~~~
"Oh yes, I'd love another glass of Verve as we sit here sunning naked here on beautiful Mykonos island, ma cherie!"
(Viagra would have to be the name of the pomeranian he'd buy me to carry around everywhere.)
~~~
And for that matter it suddenly it doesn't seem so impossible that I'll win the big sweep either... Sigh.
Damnit Celestia! Next time we go shopping we're sticking to Far East Plaza, okay?
posted by rose at 12:59 AM
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