Thursday, September 09, 2010

I Am Utterly Mystified By This Enigma That I Do In Fact Entirely Understand

Exploding heads at the Daily Mail over the following question...

What turned this middle-class public schoolgirl into Wayne Rooney's £1,200-a-night escort?

I'll spare you polysyllabic snark and just make this observation: it was probably the £1,200 a night.

I mean, let's skip the obvious class snobbery and cut to the bottom line: that sum of cash is more than I earned monthly for eight years of my adult life. It's several times higher than the largest bundles I've ever spent on a single item, a holiday or whatever.

Granted, I'd pass on such a career opportunity myself. Humping potato-faced Premiership prima donnas isn't my thing*; I don't look as good in a mankini as I used to and I doubt that Mrs. R would approve. That said, I can imagine that other people's psych profiles fit a certain... moral flexibility, would be the only way to describe it.

I note this because the reality of prostitution for most seems to be more sex-to-cash-to-dealer-to-crackpipe-to-sex than it is Belle du Jour. If we can accept that some people will do the nasty for pocket change, why is it shocking that our precious Miles, Jemimas and Samanthas would go at it for four figures? Or is this just another sorry chapter in our ongoing, national moral pantomime?

Damn, now I'm answering my own questions.

*That said, I notice Mrs Tiger Woods trousered $500m for a five-year matrimony. Let me go on record saying that I am entirely willing to be Tiger's wife for that kind of cash, and Mrs R will just have to lump it.**

**I also think I deserve credit for not making an off-colour remark about the article's author, Nick Fagge.

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