The phrase fall from grace could not be more apt when describing my circumstances.
In early 2020, I was flying high in the skies globetrotting across different continents. I’m talking branded luggages, walking tours across quaint old towns in the south of France, wine, cheese, branded bags, expensive watches.
Instagram worthy photos taken at UNESCO sites across the globe.
It’s the life I’ve always wanted.
To travel, to fly, to see the world.
Having a great career is just one part of my wholesome life.
When I come back home, my husband James would be waiting for me at the airport.
I knew what he wanted.
To see me in that signature purple Kebaya uniform I had to hold my breath everytime I’m in it.
He could not resist seeing me in it.
It took everything in him to keep his hands off me at the airport as we walked to the carpark.
The moment we were on the expressway, my husband would be groaning and moaning as I gave him a special first class treatment as he drove along the slow lane.
It didn’t matter that I’m dead tired after flying across timezones.
I want to make my husband happy and even if it meant a sore mouth the next day, I would do my duty as a wife.
Back home, we would fuck like rabbits as my husband role played difficult passengers picking on a fresh and innocent air crew. Amidst the laughter and moans, the two of us would finish in each other’s arms before collapsing into the $8000 dollar king size bed we splurged on.
A King size bed sitting in a 2 Bedroom loft apartment near East coast Park.
My husband worked in the Oil and Gas industry and he’s pretty well paid as a middle management.
Aside from a condominium, a car and a country club membership, we amassed a decent portfolio of stocks over the years.
No matter how you look at it, our life is set.
I will continue to travel and fly, my husband will continued to move up the ladder in the oil and gas industry.
Life could never be better.
In fact, we were about to plan for our annual holiday when Covid struck.
It hit us so suddenly that no one had time to react.
From flying non-stop hopping from continent to continent, I was suddenly grounded.
I stopped flying after arriving back in Singapore on the last day of February.
Oil prices were falling non-stop too and it affected my husband’s company as well.
The bad news never stopped coming.
It started raining onto us all at once.
The planes were grounded and the country entered a circuit breaker. My husband started with a 25% paycut, then it became 50%.
By the time the circuit breaker ended, my husband was sitting on a 75% paycut.
Well, at least he is still getting paid.
I’ve been surviving on a pittance the past few months.
With no money coming in, there’s still the bills that need to be paid.
We just refinanced our place in early 2019, locking in our interest at 2.5% for our home loan. Looking at the interest rate now, we really feel like shooting ourselves in the foot.
Then there is the car. We can’t afford to keep the car but if we sell it now, we can’t even get enough to repay the outstanding loan.
My husband still has instalments left on his watches while I have my facial packages, my spa packages and a while list of stuff I need to pay off on my credit card.
We’re pretty fucked in the literal sense.
What about our stocks ?
Look at the damm stock prices now.
My husband was the one managing the joint portfolio. It’s now worth less than $10000, an 80% drop.
From a high flying couple with endless curated Instagram photos, we were considering whether to deactivate our social media account.
I cried in the living room when I saw my husband come back with a set of food delivery uniform and insulated bag.
“Don’t worry babe, this will be over soon.” He said.
James started doing food delivery, hitting 12 hour stretches every day for 6 days. He takes a one day break on Monday and even then, he does some delivery gigs for a friend of his.
My husband is a fighter unlike me.
I’m all for the easy money.
All my life, money has come easy for me.
I fly, I travel, I enjoy myself and I get paid.
I’m not going to put on that disgusting uniform to deliver food.
I belong to the skies.
I tried looking for part time jobs and gigs but even when I receive some offers, my pride made it impossible for me to take them up.
I don’t want to be walking around asking the public to mask up.
I don’t want to be standing in a supermarket or at the bus interchange looking all sweet and dolled up asking people to keep their distance.
I don’t want to.
I’m an air stewardess, an air crew for one of the best airline in the world for crying out loud.
I’m not doing things like this for a couple of thousand bucks.
No way.
I just need to find another way to make money.
An easier way.
And I found one.
While surfing the net and browsing through classifieds, I saw an ad.
A really weird one.
An ad advertising fetishes.
It’s true. There are people with different fetishes.
And I saw one that wants to buy worn undies.
That is absolutely disgusting.
I burst out laughing when I read the ad but I stopped laughing when I saw the offer online.
*Willing to pay high price for worn undies. There are plenty of scammers and men pretending to be women online so I’m only paying to deal via meetups. It’s very simple. Meet up in a public place, a crowded one of your choosing.
Remove your undies in the bathroom and put them in a ziplock bag for me.
- Remove in the bathroom – $80
- Remove in front of me – $180
- Let me remove it for you – $280
Nothing sleazy, no inappropriate touching. Everything will be over in a minute.
It’s only one undies.
PS: I’m willing to pay more if you are a student or air stewardess *
I literally went ‘ what the hell ‘ several times after reading the ad twice.
I mean, ‘ what the hell ?’
Someone is willing to pay that kind of money for my worn underwear ?
Is he for real ?
I looked at the email provided and I hesitated for a brief moment.
In the end, I registered a new email and I dropped the advertiser an enquiry.
I never expected to receive a reply barely 5 minutes later.
He’s open to meeting that very day if I could.
I sat up immediately on the sofa as I looked at the line of text on my tablet.
Another mail came in.
The advertiser claims he is sincere to conclude the deal and he assures me he is not some prick or sicko. It’s just a fetish of his.
He offered to meet at a café or somewhere crowded of my choosing. He could buy me a coffee and I’ll decide if I want to go through with the deal.
I bit my fingernails as I paced about the house for a couple of minutes.
I have lots of undies. Many of them are pretty old.
I could always part with a few, I mean, it’s just selling undies isn’t it ?
What’s the worse that can happen ?
In the end, I agreed to meet the advertiser and I picked out an old white cotton panty with a thick pink waistband. I put on a casual pair of shorts and t-shirt before grabbing a small sling bag.
I put on a mask, effectively covering up my face.
For that brief moment, I realised I have something to thank the damm pandemic for.
The mask.
If I need to resort to selling my underwear, at least I’m wearing a mask.
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