I kind of had this revelation after walking through Rosedale this morning and seeing all the spas and the salons and the pretty lunching ladies walking about town at 10am in little sundresses and kitten heels, sipping genteel lattes, buying fruit and flowers, waiting for their manicures, utterly without concern that they weren’t in an office.
My shameful revelation? Sometimes, I wish I could make it through life just by being pretty. You know, professionally, like a trophy wife. I guess this might be seen as stemming from some failed ambition for fame or popstardom, but it’s not really. I don’t need ravening fans, it would just be nice if one’s entire vocation consisted of just eating properly, going to the gym, applying fancy creams and wearing nice clothes. Sort of like a Stepford Wife, except of course that I would be free to pursue my own interests such as reading, writing, art, photography, woodcarving, canoeing, croquet and the like in my spare time. And I wouldn’t have my eyeballs ripped out by my robot twin.
Vanity? No. Severe dissatisfaction with office job? Yes. Am I a bad person for thinking about this after generations of my foremothers fought for equal rights? Probably.
Who knows – maybe that dreamy existence is what retirement will be like.
Except most likely without the supple, wrinkle-free skin and svelte figure.
Because that would be creeeeepy.
I think I would make a good heiress. Honestly.
I like your idea. Let’s get on that, shall we?
Man, that is my fantasy. Trophy wife! I think, a couple of times in my life, I have come close. Ultimately, I failed at my ultimate goal, and now console myself by getting my eyebrows done on a regular basis. And I don’t like croquet.
We work too hard, Moi. That’s the issue.
feel guilty? Heck, I would like to go through life like that sometimes… and I’m pretty sure noone’s ever going to accuse me of relying on my beauty in life.
Also, you don’t have to be (or feign being) vapid AND vacuous this way. ooh- or elitist! You know, unless you like being those things to which I would then say, “more’s the pity…”
I suspect I walk the line of not helping here.
Hell, even us old broads have that fantasy – all we foremothers have ever wanted for our female offspring is the opportunity for them to be whatever they wanted to be (including a “trophy” if that’s your wish). At least you can be a true trophy – beautiful, bodacious and bright.
OMG, s_c and I were having a conversation the other day about low-status jobs and what job actually does take the lowest brainpower/skill, and we settled on “heiress”.
I think I’d be fantastic at it.
I always think I’d love to be a trophy or similar, but then I remember that I’m wayyyy more stressed out for pretty-heroine roles than any other type, because the hotness pressure GETS TO ME, MAN.
So all I need to do is get adopted by someone super-rich. Right?
Yes, and make sure to hunt down any other legitimate/natural heirs who may be hovering around.