When I was even shorter than I am now, I collected pre-Lincoln Memorial pennies, Pokemon cards and POGs. Now I collect prostitutes.
The whore card is as ubiquitous a London symbol as the bright red telephone boxes into which they are tastefully blue-tacked to advertise the services of some of London's luscious ladies, including "Stunning Blonde Babe," "Seductive Blonde Babe," "Sexy Blonde Babe" and, if you just can't decide, "Blonde Babe," pure and simple.
The whore card is all class, inviting clients to spank and be spanked with the ever classic gape plastered onto lipsticked lips: "Oops, did my shirt just pop open? Good thing I'm wearing these little stars on my t..."
It's also colourful and shiny. And that is why I started bringing whore cards back to my dorm, two or three at a time, to tack onto my wall. Now I have 98.
Not everyone understands my fascination with these be-G-stringed gals in all their glossy glory.
As I stand in a telephone booth carefully surveying the menu of madams like a seasoned connoisseur (I don't do doubles, although a few in my collection might be up for it), curious passersby glance in and shuffle off with raised eyebrows. My biggest fear is getting my face pounded in by an angry pimp as he discovers me exiting the booth with his freshly posted pictures.
Originally I liked to keep my ladies pressed between the pages of a book, carrying them around in my tote bag. (It was like having friends.) This ended the day I dropped my textbook in Labour Economics, and "Sexy Sassy Classy Sally" and all her sexy sassy classy pals abruptly introduced themselves to my classmates. (I still maintain the accident was educational in nature. They are working girls after all.)
The incident was almost as embarrassing as the time I shot a cashier at the Loop with a cola-flavoured condom trying to get my wallet out of my backpack after a visit to the Student Health table on the Plaza.
Now my prostitute cards are carefully arranged in a mural above my bed, where they can be properly and privately appreciated for the art that they are.
Much like the symbolic snowflake, each of my whore cards is its own unique and individual masterpiece, except for "Elegant Brazilian," "Beautiful Brunette Ex-Model" and "Young & Beautiful," all of which feature different agency numbers but the same stock photo of a pouting brunette in a bikini and heels.
Although nearly all the ladies on my wall advertise spanking services, "Top Asian Mistress," decked out in a black leather number and distinctively unerotic cat mask complete with silver-glitter coated whiskers, offers "two-way spanking," which is weirdly specific and also brilliant.
Like Shakespeare before them, these London ladies have a way with words, spinning their smut into phrases that better the English language. "Busty Blonde Babe" seductively invites you for an "unhurried melons massage." Another broad calls herself "Miss Behaving." "Spank My Arse, I Deserve It," she says. (This card really speaks to my soul, as I can identify with her attempt at humour combined with self-degradation.)
Some of the prostitutes, on the other hand, could use a refresher in spelling and grammar. Misplaced apostrophes are sprinkled throughout the mural, and one card features nothing but two entangled blondes, a phone number and large hot pink letters: "LESBISN LOVERS." Considering the lack of extra text, you would think a bit of proofreading might have done some good, but then again, the minimal use of type might speak to the card designer's assumption that images over words trigger carnal desires... that or his low budget.
But despite the varied levels of thought and effort put into each card, I hold every one near and dear to my heart-from coy and pink "Ask & I Might" to the niche-satisfying "Stunning Kinky Transsexual Pre-Op" to the Christmas-and dominatrix-themed-"Have a Cruel Yule," and if nothing else, like silly life lessons and precious memories, my card collection is a little bit of London I can take home and cherish always.
Lysa Chen is a Trinity junior. This is her last column of the semester.
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