By Felicia Mason
Laurel decided fairly early in life that the most viable occupation for a woman with few marketable skills was one in which she played on her looks. She could barely focus enough on her studies to graduate from high school let alone try to stay engaged long enough to go to a college or trade school. Besides, from the time she was fourteen, she’d heard, “You’re gorgeous. You should be a model.”
By the time twenty-four arrived and people were saying the same thing, her standard reply was: “I’ve struggled in that field already. I’m going to give myself a break now and do something I want to do.”
With a precision and determination that surprised Laurel and stunned her friends, she sat herself down and earned a GED. Before long, she discovered that her poor academic performance in her teens had more to do with a love of fashion magazines and makeup than anything in a dusty textbook. And when she discovered textbooks weren’t all in book form anymore, she combined her passions and gave herself a goal.
And now, at thirty-four, Laurel discovered that a late career change was just what the doctor ordered. Juris doctor that is. When her name was called, she smiled and rose to accept her hard-earned law degree from a university she couldn’t even spell while living her former life.
At a party for the new lawyers, a man sidled up to her, drink in hand and smarmy smile on his face. “Hey, there, pretty lady. Why be a lawyer? With those looks, you should be a model.”