Mistress Material

I’m so pleased that the new season of Mistresses has finally started! I have to admit, shows like this and Desperate Housewives give me hope that life will continue to be fabulous when I hit my thirties, forties and beyond.

So, what makes Mistresses so appealing? Could it be the sex in the many and varied places (who remembers the stationery cupboard?), good times spent drinking fine wine and sharing laughs, or the regular appearance of rich, attractive men wanting to get down and dirty with these (seemingly) shameless women? It could be. We all know that for most women, real life  is more unfulfilling sex in a boring bedroom, a pint at the pub with the local band and an annual glimpse of a man that elevates your heart beat for 20 seconds before you see him take his boyfriend’s hand and walk away.

Critics of Mistresses, who often refer to the programme as Mattresses, blast it for being shallow, promoting materialism and encouraging promiscuity. I’m sure they said the same of Sex and the City, particularly of the flamboyant Samantha.  And, to some extent, they are right.  The rising number of women aspiring to be the next Imelda Marcos is proof that these shows pack a mean marketing punch. But, I think the critics are being hypocrites in denying that women’s uncovered desire to live each daring, dirty, sexy moment as it comes is a great leap forward for half of the world’s population. Why should anyone be labelled materialistic for wanting to wear nice clothes and fabulous shoes, and making sure that they can? Why are women vain for wanting their hair to be nicely styled and their skin glowing from a perfect body polish? So what if I like lots of hot, filthy sex with hot, filthy rich men (and girls)?

The hypocrites fail to realise that life, for the most part, is shallow, materialistic and promiscuous. Its what keeps capitalism alive and well, and in other aspects of life, this behaviour is actually labelled as smart! I’m sure no one would call me promiscuous if I changed High Street banks regularly would they? What if I lost my passion for Jimmy Choos? There’d be yet another designer trekking down to the Job Centre to sign on.

So cut the sanctimonious crap will you, and just let the millions of us who want to enjoy an hour of pure, oestrogen loaded pleasure do so. Besides, couldn’t you use the time to have some fun of your own with a Playful escort girl?



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