It is a curious thing seeing your friends get older, and doing things you never thought they’d do, and when random rich fifty somethings start popping up in “who’s fucking who” dinner conversation radar, you know you’re hitting the quarter life sector.
I read a piece in Marie Claire earlier this year about socially acceptable mistresses, and thought “what a bunch of Ho’s”. The article went on to explain the rules and benefits of being a mistress to said rich old man with a Rolls Royce. Some of these benefits include expensive gifts (to buy your silence) weekends away to secluded spas (if you want to play hide the salami, and actually be the salami?) an apartment in a nice part of town (not the same town as the wife) a luxury car (so he can kick you out of bed at 6am, but doesn’t have to give you a lift) and some even got a credit card (and I thought redemption was only for sale by the catholic church, go figure.)
Then the rules come into play, he dresses you, you are not to see anyone else, your phone bill goes tho him with itemised billing, you are absolutely not, and i mean not to ever ask anything about where or how or what he was, not even to make conversation. And you are not to call him, and obviously also not his wife.
This 2008 version of Roxanne, lady of the night is up for show at any upmarket hangout in Cape Town, go peek in to any overpriced eatery and you will find them there, sporting Cartier and Mr Price, hanging on the arm of some old fat man with too much money for his own good.
This sadly adolescent behavior has caused many a public scandal in Cape Town, including rows at the Cape Grace, brutal beatings of twenty something beaus in a Camps Bay club, divorce, children running away from home to the transkei and also a suicide, charming is it not.
Which brings me to the ugly rationalizations of the mistress in the mag, she labours under the illusion that she is doing the wives of these men some kind of favour saying “when he gets to me, he is all wound up and angry, I relax him and he talks to me. In a way I prepare him for his wife, so when he goes home, he is care free and can enjoy his family in peace.” Ah sweet.
Are these chicks on crazy pills, why doesn’t she just go sign herself up at the loony bin for extended accommodation. Wonderful service to the family, the husband never talks to his wife, never fights, never feels properly, it’s all just days of our lives a la Camps bay.
Which brings me finally to my point, I was disgusted to find myself sitting at a dinner table sharing meal with one of these sluts, and the worst thing about it, was that once upon I time I thought I knew her. She is a Woman that used to be my friend! I hate seeing her in this Campari prison, I just hope we find the key before all the potential good guys disappear.