Whorporate

I was supposed to go camping with a bunch of friends over the weekend. I've been stretched too thin for far too long and like a pair of Kmart underwear, my elastic is about to give out. I don't even want to be around boys right now. I'm turning down dates just to be alone.

I was looking forward to sleeping under a star filled sky. I wanted to get away from it all. The weather was gorgeous and I needed the special kind of mothering only nature can give. Some vitamin D, some happy time for the dog, s'mores. Not to mention my friend Brett's kickass migas. The way we eat while camping is hardly roughing it,; last time there were mimosas at breakfast! I'd been looking forward to this for weeks now.

Then he called.

My freelance pimp.

...and I realized the ugly truth: I am a whore.

I was willing to kick all the respite, renewal and reconnection with my friends right out to the gutter. I'd make approximately 2 weeks pay in just one weekend.

I felt giddy but was disgusted with myself. I booked this camping trip ages ago. I had plans! All dashed in the instant when the double dollar signs became visible in the reflections of my eyes.

Working for the pimp can be difficult. He has all the control and I know he makes plenty of money from my labor, but I love him like a daddy. When he tells me he loves my work and wants to take care of me, I believe him... I really do.