Periodically I imagine quitting my job and becoming a high class prostitute. Like everybody, right?
Basically, in these fantasies I have great sex with a group of very dignified, grey haired, impeccably dressed and well read men, and they all send me gifts. There are just barges of gifts showing up at my home. Every day I open the door and – bam! – more gifts. Not dumb stuff like jewels, either. Medieval illuminated manuscripts instead, sometimes. I also wear a lot of dresses with bell sleeves. And ball gowns! Never mind that some mornings I forget to brush my hair! It is like I am in my prom picture, forever.
Then I remember, “Wait. Here at TheGloss we run a weekly column about being a sex worker. It is actually nothing like I am imagining.” And that is when I realize that what I am thinking of is not actually being a sex worker. What I am thinking of is the plot of the movie Dangerous Beauty, which is about the 16th century courtesan Veronica Franco. This is confusing, because she has similar hair and contemptuous looks:
So, it seems like we could be sisters (hahahaahaha, no, Catherine McCormack is the most beautiful ever), except that Veronica Franco, the courtesan upon whom Dangerous Beauty is based, lived in 16th century Venice. And apparently, her life was not exactly like the movie. Which I am kind of upset about.