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Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Library Lover's Nude Modeling Lament
I thought there was a limit to what I’d do in the name of reading. Hiding out in a locked bathroom – trying desperately to finish a particularly good read -- while my three young children searched the house calling, “Mom, mom, mom, mom!” was heretofore the outer limits of book anarchy for me.
That was until I found myself perched precariously – and naked – on a pond in our family’s olive drab john boat, a favorite copy of T.H. White’s Once and Future King allegedly covering my droopy 40-something bosom. I was there in the interest of raising funds to make up a budget deficit in municipal funding for our new local library through a “semi-nude” calendar featuring book/library lovers.
Robin, the motivating force behind the project and also our trusty shutter babe, was alternately shouting positioning commands at me and then snapping pictures when she deemed me appropriately “cheeky but tasteful” for our 2010 semi-nude calendar.
I’d like to say it was fun. I’d like to say I embraced nudity and the chance to mine my inner Gisele. Alas, I would be lying. About all I took away was a new and wholly unexpected appreciation for what that poor woman must go through on a regular basis.
Well. That and a wistful thought that someday my grandchildren may come across the published calendar and be scandalized and/or amused by Granny’s pluck and adventurousness. Hopefully they won’t find it quaint.
Because this was one tough gig. First, there was the inevitable discomfort that arises when a human outside of your own spouse or spawn sees you in the buff. I suppose this is where some nudist colony training – or even a brief foray onto a nude beach somewhere, anywhere – would have come in handy. We’ve all seen it before, it’s true, but I was the girl who hated high school gym class and mom/baby swimming lessons because I loathed being naked in front of others.
Then there were the sheer mechanics of my first (and no doubt last) modeling shoot. It was a hazy, hot and humid day and a metal boat is really no place to be on such a day, especially when one is not sporting clothing. From the back seat I tried to position my book in front of my breasts while placing my legs (merciless Robin insisting that my toes remain pointed all the while) upon the middle seat of the boat.
This may not sound difficult. But then imagine performing this feat while sweat pours out of every gland in your body. It was as if someone had doused me in petroleum jelly in preparation for a swim across the English Channel. My husband took charge of regular boat tilting in order to keep my slipping, sliding butt in the center of our trusty old watercraft.
Fifteen minutes and one near swoon later, I emerged from the boat shaken, sweatier than I had ever been before and more than a little concerned about there being at least one decent shot. Above all, I did not want to go back to the boat.
That does have a sinister ring to it, yes? In truth though, my calendar experience has made for good anecdotal fodder and has confirmed my long-held view that modeling – nude or otherwise – is no life for man, woman or beast. And best of all? The Rollinsford librarian owes me a favor or two and I plan on collecting through lifetime immunity to overdue fees, which I notoriously rack up when library books disappear among my own book collection and remain lost until I commit to hunting them down, shelf by shelf.
That was until I found myself perched precariously – and naked – on a pond in our family’s olive drab john boat, a favorite copy of T.H. White’s Once and Future King allegedly covering my droopy 40-something bosom. I was there in the interest of raising funds to make up a budget deficit in municipal funding for our new local library through a “semi-nude” calendar featuring book/library lovers.
Robin, the motivating force behind the project and also our trusty shutter babe, was alternately shouting positioning commands at me and then snapping pictures when she deemed me appropriately “cheeky but tasteful” for our 2010 semi-nude calendar.
I’d like to say it was fun. I’d like to say I embraced nudity and the chance to mine my inner Gisele. Alas, I would be lying. About all I took away was a new and wholly unexpected appreciation for what that poor woman must go through on a regular basis.
Well. That and a wistful thought that someday my grandchildren may come across the published calendar and be scandalized and/or amused by Granny’s pluck and adventurousness. Hopefully they won’t find it quaint.
Because this was one tough gig. First, there was the inevitable discomfort that arises when a human outside of your own spouse or spawn sees you in the buff. I suppose this is where some nudist colony training – or even a brief foray onto a nude beach somewhere, anywhere – would have come in handy. We’ve all seen it before, it’s true, but I was the girl who hated high school gym class and mom/baby swimming lessons because I loathed being naked in front of others.
Then there were the sheer mechanics of my first (and no doubt last) modeling shoot. It was a hazy, hot and humid day and a metal boat is really no place to be on such a day, especially when one is not sporting clothing. From the back seat I tried to position my book in front of my breasts while placing my legs (merciless Robin insisting that my toes remain pointed all the while) upon the middle seat of the boat.
This may not sound difficult. But then imagine performing this feat while sweat pours out of every gland in your body. It was as if someone had doused me in petroleum jelly in preparation for a swim across the English Channel. My husband took charge of regular boat tilting in order to keep my slipping, sliding butt in the center of our trusty old watercraft.
Fifteen minutes and one near swoon later, I emerged from the boat shaken, sweatier than I had ever been before and more than a little concerned about there being at least one decent shot. Above all, I did not want to go back to the boat.
That does have a sinister ring to it, yes? In truth though, my calendar experience has made for good anecdotal fodder and has confirmed my long-held view that modeling – nude or otherwise – is no life for man, woman or beast. And best of all? The Rollinsford librarian owes me a favor or two and I plan on collecting through lifetime immunity to overdue fees, which I notoriously rack up when library books disappear among my own book collection and remain lost until I commit to hunting them down, shelf by shelf.
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