Air on the G String or Money is Money

Here’s a little story for this week’s Trifecta challenge to use the third definition of rainbow:  “[from the impossibility of reaching the rainbow, at whose foot a pot of gold is said to be buried] :  an illusory goal or hope.”  It’s not really in my usual style, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out.

____________________

I was a teacher before this, you know?  No kidding.  I have an M.A. in English – even thought about getting my Ph. D once.

It’s not so bad though.  I come in, do my job and go home.  Sure, sometimes I have to watch Tyfani snort coke backstage, and occasionally one of the losers in pervert row gets a little handsy, but I’ve got my regulars.

The other girls are nice, too, especially Sugar.

That’s her real name.  Sugar.

The moment her mother slapped that moniker on a birth certificate, Sugar’s fate was pretty much sealed.

Of course, it’s not like my parents ensured a virtuous future for me when they named me Elizabeth after famed suffragette Elizabeth Cady Stanton.

Most guys don’t want a principled girl named Elizabeth shaking her ass in their faces anyway – it reminds them too much of their vituperating girlfriends and cancerous ex-wives.

Here I’m Jade.

Luckily all those years of compulsive stress exercising gave me a rocking body.  I’ve got small breasts, but some guys like that, clearly, since I make twice as much money now as I ever did teaching.

Do I find it degrading?

No more degrading than being an educated woman who grubs 60 hours a week, lives in a rat-hole on the bad side of town, eats nothing but ketchup on saltines and still can’t make ends meet.

Now THAT’S degrading.

So instead of grading papers, I get paper stuffed into my g-string.

Elizabeth was drowning in debt; Jade just bought a figurative rowboat.

I spent years chasing that respectable rainbow that everyone promised would lead to a pot of good fortune.  When I got to the end, all I found was a pot of debt. IOUs.  Fool’s gold.

So I found a different rainbow in a puddle of oil – the kind that most people step on without a second glance.  Still no gold, but at least this pot at the end is filled with enough singles and fives to make rent.

12 responses »

  1. I find it sad that it could come down to this to pay bills. I had to crack up at the bit about Sugar. At first, I couldn’t believe that a parent would do that…then I remembered a girl I went to school with named Honeybear. Anything is possible.

  2. Maybe a teensie tiny bit of ‘one more day like today and I’ll…’ fantasy?
    And I find the name Tyfani much more disturbing than Sugar.
    Also, love the title!

    • You hit the nail on the head! I’d never actually do it, but there have been days I slave away, look at the bank account and declare in disgust, “I’m just gonna be a stripper, dammit!” Once I read an article about a stripper who made $60,000 in a year. Also, agreed on Tyfani. As far as I’m concerned, parents who try to give their kids kreative names can all go fly a kite in the eye of a hurricane together.

  3. “No more degrading than being an educated woman who grubs 60 hours a week, lives in a rat-hole on the bad side of town, eats nothing but ketchup on saltines and still can’t make ends meet.

    Now THAT’S degrading.”

    That is so true! And I admire this woman! The ways of the world are not fair, but she is doing what she has to do! Good for her!

    I loved this line too:

    “Elizabeth was drowning in debt; Jade just bought a figurative rowboat.”

    I learned a new word too-vituperating. That is one hell of a good word!

    Great writing, Jean!!

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