By Claire Parsons
Apparently, I’m a ho
Up to this point, I have lived in a self-deluded state of arrogance. I believed that I possessed a good sense of self and commanded the respect of my peers with my poise and strength. I believed that I had unimpeachable morals and a well-formed conscience. This Halloween, however, I will be proving the contrary. I have no dignity, my morals are questionable at best, and apparently, I’m a ho.
Yes, a ho. A vinyl-skirt, nonexistent-shirt-wearing, overly-made-up ho, complete with fishnet stockings and ass-ugly ratted hair. I will be casting aside my usually conservative dress code of jeans and a tee shirt to don the uncomfortable and unflattering apparel of a ten-dollar corner whore. Wouldn’t my mother be proud, and wouldn’t my father be pissed?
Surely there must be a good explanation for why such a devout former Catholic girl like myself would turn to pseudo-prostitution for my costume. There must be some liberal-minded reason why I, a woman who attended not one but two Lilith Fairs, would choose to dress in such a self-exploitative way. There is a reason, and if you ask me, it’s a damn fine one. My boyfriend asked me to accompany him to his friends’ “Pimps and Hos” Halloween party. To all of you radical feminists ready to burn me in effigy, I beg you not to judge me too harshly. I’m not just demeaning myself by dressing as a dirty hooker because my boyfriend/pimp told me to. Being the independent woman of the new millennium that I am, I have a much better reason. I was also informed that there would be free alcohol at the party. As someone who is not yet able to legally purchase alcohol, I felt morally obligated to attend, despite the damage to my dignity that will inevitably ensue.
Ironically, it is my belief that attending this party will be a good character-building experience. Movies, television, and popular music often downplay the hardships of the lives of hos today. Our society often incorrectly assumes that a ho merely provides sexual favors in exchange for money. While that is the main task a ho is supposed to fulfill, it is not the only one. After immersing myself in the ho culture, I have realized that the ho is the best surviving example of the multi-tasking woman. A ho not only has to please customers; she must also keep a usually overbearing and abusive pimp happy. She has to cater to the whims of her clients and feed her smack addiction. Most impressively, hos have to walk in four-inch-high heels and clothes that are so tight that they restrict her range of motion without falling over. I’m proud to dress as a ho, and I’m not just saying that because I want to rationalize going to a party with the intent of getting slobbering drunk without feeling guilty about it. Okay, so maybe I am.
So what’s my conclusion? Well, I’m going to go out there and be the best ho I can be. I really have no choice. I’ve been enlisted into indentured ho-titude for the evening of November 2, and if I don’t fulfill my agreement, Shorty the Pimp will smack me around. I’m going to mock one of society’s oldest social problems, and be proud of it. I’m going to stand tall in my four-inch heels so that my height rivals even the best drag queens. I’m going to “work it” as best I can, which probably means trying not to hang my head and laugh sheepishly at myself. I can only hope and pray that the other people attending this party look as stupid as I will. Happy Halloween! I’s a ho!
