Pretty Privilege Inc

I should hire myself out as a professional companion for older women.

First of all, they seem to enjoy my presence and ask me to accompany them to all sorts of places. I have infinite patience for most of these outings. The kind of patience that comes at the price of having dealt with the most difficult older woman on the planet: my mother.

That patience really appeals to them, as does my personality. Where my mother sees something she wants to squash like a bug, they see the personality of someone strong enough to boost the confidence they lack day to day. They probably see a woman who got to defy the patriarchy and claim some mental freedom. If they only knew what that freedom cost me.

They also like the fringe benefit of my personal growth: my appearance. I’m old enough to be good company because I’ve lived a life, but I still cling to enough vivacity that I don’t read as older from the jump. And they enjoy the residual benefits from that life fully lived. This isn’t my supposition; they’ve openly told me that they exploit my juventud and bring me along so that they get the better treatment. AKA Pretty Privilege.

When I was younger, deep in my prime Pretty Privilege era, I was unprepared for the battle I would be waging at home. The arrows of jealousy, envy, and spite came from the person that should have celebrated me most, and did it the least: my mother.

All roads lead to Rome. And in this case, Rome is my mother and the roads are trauma.

At the ripe old age of 50, none of which I actually feel, I am finally free enough to enjoy whatever Pretty Privilege remains.

Just as well I’m in Guatemala. Here, my age, my looks, and my experience are a commodity. In the United States, they’d be a liability. Rates available upon request.