My wallet was stolen hours after I’d withdrawn thousands of Pesos from my bank account. We had just enough to cover our hostel costs until our trip was over. We needed money, and we needed it—
Knock. Knock. Yuck, it was that toad-face, middle-aged guy who kept asking us out.
¡¡Lightbulb!! Talk about knock and the door shall be open unto you. Did da lordt just send us a Mexican sugar daddy? We didn’t need a penthouse and luxury purses, only a few meals until it was time to catch our flight.
We did a quick deliberation and determined that toad face wasn’t looking so toady after all.
Back up. Don’t prejudge. Deciding to be a sugar baby was no easy decision. First of all, you have to determine what you’re willing to give and receive.
Whoring ain’t easy. Mess around with the wrong stranger, and we’d end up like that girl in Taken. And ain’t nobody looking for two broke black girls who were last seen in a hostel.
For those skimming through, a hostel is not the same as a hotel; It’s not even on the same level as a motel — it’s lower.
Hostel is to hotel as oatmeal raisin is to chocolate chip. The only thing a hostel and hotel have in common is people renting. In a hotel, you rent a room. In a hostel, you rent a bed. The S in ‘hostel’ stands for struggle!
In the event that our would-be sugar daddy did get mad and tried to kidnap or rape us, we rehearsed a few kung fu moves.
I gotta be honest. Our kung fu moves were more like none fu moves ’cause we weren’t hurting nobody with our twiggy arms and bad aim.
Anyway, we get to dinner, and I order a modest entree. You know, only get what you’re willing to pay for. Because if all goes well, we might hustle a second meal out of this man.
Meanwhile, my roommate went ham on the menu like this man had money for hoes—plural. If this man had money for hoes, he’d be at a ho-tel, not a hos-tel with us.
Aight, we made it through the meal. Roberto offered up his card with the confidence of a veteran NBA baller at his favorite strip club.
Whomp. The server returned, and his declined card. My man ain’t phased; he offered a second card with the confidence of someone paying with stolen food stamps.
Whomp whomp His second card is declined. I start mentally calculating my portion of the meal. See, this is why I didn’t want to get dessert. Praise hand emoji. His third card was approved.
Shout out to the Splenda daddies; you ain’t got no coint, but you trying to live the dream. I salute you.
Award-winning Caribbean comedian, Onicia Muller’s weekly humour column, Just Being Funny is chicken soup for the naive sceptic’s soul. You can hire her to write anything from blogs and newsletters to
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