3D is killing my porn career.
So I stand at the end of my driveway wearing a matching white halter and latex micro-mini, pitcher in hand, selling homemade lemonade to drivers-by.
Traffic on the street has tripled since I started. Many drivers recognise me from Squat and Cough 7, my last big success. And there have been quite a few rear-end collisions too.
A frequent driver-by is Barney, my ex-husband.
“It’s your fault I’m doing this, Barney,” I screamed through the driver’s window of his BMW as he pulled up yesterday.
“You got the house and the pool boy in the settlement,” he yelled back.
“And you got the plastic surgeon!” Bending over, I had to hitch up my halter. “Now I can’t go within 200 yards of his practice or house or mother!”
Never marry a divorce lawyer. And if you do, never divorce him.
Barney buzzed up the windows and I saw my tits in the dark reflection: sagging, especially around the edges. I threw the pitcher at the car and smashed the window, lemonade and glass splattering everywhere. Tyres squealing, he sped off.
It’s hard getting work done that’s cheap and reliable, so sagging anything is a major career-crisis.
Tottering on my ten-inch wedges back to my lemonade stand, I imagined how many more glasses I’d need to sell before I can get my new super-size-me, gravity-defying rack.
As my career counsellor once said: Be proactive! If life hands you lemons, make lesbian porn.