Thursday, 27 May 2010
MIWIHSW has run into a bit of a dry patch of late. This may have something to do with the fact that I generally prefer the company of gay men and women, or possibly that I have a fairly unique ability to repel all men that I am actually interested in, and attract only those who suffer from personality disorders that should legally prevent them from mixing with normal society. Either way, it has left me with some spare time to think about the alternatives to dating....namely male escorts. The more I have thought about it, the more it makes sense- and not in a kind of creepy, 45 year old spinster with cats and a moustache who has to pay men to talk to her kind of a way- in a genius MIWIHSW way. Brace yourselves.
As you may remember from my recent entry: "Tit for Tat", I am concerned with helping women find inventive ways of economising (I'm fairly sure there is a Nobel Prize on the horizon). I believe that the male escort could in fact be our financial saviour, a way to get rid of the need for two expenses which have become the staple of the modern working women: the personal trainer and the therapist.
A therapist is usually acquired because your friends have grown tired of you droning on about the same old crap, year in and year out. At first it was wonderful- one glorious hour a week talking about yourself. It felt luxurious! Sophisticated! However, once the honeymoon is over, horror of horrors, this woman expects you to DEAL.WITH.YOUR.PROBLEMS...or worse...WORK.ON.YOURSELF. I object to paying someone over £100 an hour if I am expected to do any work whatsoever- especially when all I really want is for her to tell me that I am wonderful and rather hard done by, and that it is fact someone else's fault that I suffer from minor alcoholism/abandonment issues/cellulite.
The original purpose of hiring a personal trainer was so that I would be motivated to go to the gym, shed a stone, and look like Daria Werbowy by bikini season. He and I would flirt innocently, and he would probably fall in love with me as I effortlessly shed weight and emerged majestically svelte, like a butterfly from a chrysalis. The harsh reality of it is, that after 3 months I have actually gained weight, and "Dave" has started to bark offensively at me while he degrades me publicly with a humiliating series of lunges and burpees. Nor has he even had the decency to flirt with me- and is obviously brazenly dating the gym receptionist, who has the gall to wear lycra shorts and a crop top every day, showing off abs you could grate cheese on and a bottom like two hard boiled eggs in a handkerchief (mine is more like two wombats fighting in a sack). Any way- I digress. The point of the matter is that I now realise that I can get what I actually want from both my shrink and my trainer from an escort, and at a fraction of the price!
Here come the maths...
A therapist costs on average, £80- £120 per hour. A personal trainer- between £60- 80 per hour. According to my research, you can hire a reasonably good looking male escort for around £60 per hour. So for the bargain price of £120, I could engage in an hour of vigorous sex (burning approx 400 Calories- the same as an aerobics class), followed by an hour of cuddling- during which he has to listen to me talk about my problems, while simultaneously stroking my hair and occasionally murmuring that I am beautiful. It is quite literally, win win. According to my calculations, replacing your therapist and trainer for a weekly encounter with an escort will save you £200 a month. Over the course of a year, that's £2400. Which is roughly the cost of a classic Chanel 2.55 bag!!!!!*
X - (trainer + therapist) =
I feel like I may have just single-handedly revolutionalised the working women's economy! I imagine this lightening bolt moment is similar perhaps to how Marie Curie felt when she discovered radioactivity, or when Nicole Ritchie realised that being thinner makes you more popular. It feels glorious.
*If you don't have one, get one. I'm quite convinced mine makes me a better person.