When you concoct a plan to take naked pictures of yourself for the Internet, something is bound to go wrong.
Especially if you’re me.
(Hello woman who took months to learn how to make guacamole properly.)
Fortunately, I am hopelessly naive optimistic and it never occurred to me that this whole undertaking might be awkward. At least, it didn’t… until I got home and found myself trying to figure out how I would stage a Playboy photo shoot in my house without anyone noticing. How hard can that possibly be?
The first sign of trouble was my husband deciding to get home from work early. He’s been working long hours lately and I had assumed I’d have plenty of time to take the pictures, photoshopicize them, and then show him how delightfully tactful this whole endeavor would be. In my head, the plan was flawless and not at all embarrassing.
As he sat there on the couch prattling on about the details of his day, I recited potential explanations to myself.
“Could you give the kids a bath while I run in the other room and snap a few nude shots? Should only take a minute. Once I upload them to the web, maybe we can watch a movie.”
“Oh, by the way, I picked up milk. And your mom called. Oh, and I’m going to be naked in the other room with a camera and a tripod for a little bit. But don’t worry, it’s totally tasteful. Are you working Saturday?”
I half considered not offering any explanation as I simply marched the tripod past him and disappeared into the bedroom for a while. But I was fairly confident I wouldn’t be willing to live up to the assumptions he’d be making about our plans for later that night. Letting your husband’s mind wander freely with visions of you and a tripod is never a good idea.
I finally decided to wait until he was good and distracted with something on TV and casually let him know that, “I’m going to be in the other room for a little bit. Can you make sure the kids wash their hair?”
I closed the bedroom door behind me and twisted the lock as quietly as I could. I stripped down and tried to avoid my reflection in the mirror as I began testing the camera settings and adjusting the lighting.
And the cycle began. I’d set the timer, run in front of the camera, twist myself into a series of the least revealing poses I could imagine in 2 second intervals, and ran back to check the results in the playback screen.
I tried to remind myself this was supposed to be about acceptance as I furiously deleted shot after shot of fat roll. Why the fuck was the camera insistent on focusing on my stomach? I wondered if I would ruin this whole grand experiment if I stopped to put on a full face of makeup. When the hell did I get back fat?!?!
I was mid way through trying to find a setting that would not add 5 pounds to my thighs when it happened.
I was crouched buck ass naked behind the tripod, concentrating on the various menu settings, struggling to avoid the ridiculous image in the mirror… and I heard the phone ring.
Shit. Shit. I know that’s for me. No one ever calls here for anyone else. Shit. Why didn’t I think to have a robe nearby? I lunged for the handset on my dresser, but it was too late. The call was already activated on another line and I could hear Jared’s voice coming closer to the door. I waited for the sound of him bumping into the locked door as I frantically searched the area for a robe or pajamas or WHO THE FUCK CLEANED UP MY PILE OF PAJAMAS!?!?!
The door opened.
“Oh my God it was supposed to be locked!!” I shrieked. And for just a second the world stood painfully still and silent.
Jared stopped and stared, the phone still held up to his ear but no sound coming from his mouth as he surveyed the scene before him. I was frozen, naked; the tripod, camera and mirror I’d been sitting in front of in plain view.
And just as suddenly as it had stopped, the world began to spin again. I grabbed the robe that seemed to have magically appeared at the foot of the bed and threw it around me as I tried to casually take the phone from Jared.
“Who is it?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible, pushing him out of the room and shutting the bedroom door behind us.
“It’s… uh.. um… it’s… phone.. uh… Adam,” he stammered.
“Thanks! Love you!” I took the phone and kissed his cheek before making a mad dash for the patio and a cigarette.
To Be Continued…