Thursday, June 21, 2012

Confession Time: Being a Boudoir Belle

Recently, one of my Facebook (FB) friends changed her profile photo and I must say it's a stunning head and shoulders shot. Her make-up is flawless. Her hair is styled in some touseled, just- rolled- out -of- bed- in- a- soap- opera style. She has her arm thrown carelessly over her head and she's staring at the camera with a come-hither expression and the faintest hint of a smile. Only after thinking, "Wow what a great shot," did I realize that she's in her bra.

It's tasteful. It's beautiful. I'm pretty sure it was originally meant for her husband.

Yes, it's a "boudoir" glamor shot.

And I will never, ever,  be brave enough to take any.

I saw the booth for a local boudoir photographer at the last Southern Women's Show. I picked up a brochure and tucked it into my bag. I went back and asked questions, but several months later, I'm reluctant to call.

First of all, I approach photos with the idea that they are meant for all to see. Anything with an expensive sitting fee, in my mind, should result in several large portrait style photos, all sutable for framing. Me in my underwear is not sutable for framing, even in the 80's when I had, but did not know I had, a rockin' hot bod.

Secondly, I believe that my mother would die from embarassment, so horribly, that she would not be allowed burial in the family plot. Yes, I'm an adult, but disappointing my mother is still a very big deal to me. I was raised a proper, Southern lady, with thank you notes and the proper attire for a bridal tea and all that. A Southern mother would surely expire on the spot if her baby girl were to be photographed in her underwear. When I was going through my first divorce and my ex stole the car that I was driving, I had six undeveloped rolls of film. I was angry because they were of my daughter's birthday, and my brother's graduation from the police academy. I could not remember what the rest were of and the first thing my mother had asked was if there was anything "embarassing" ( i.e. "em-BARE-ASS-ing") on them. Thankfully, I did not

Thirdly, my daddy might see them. I know. I'm an adult and can pretty much do as I please. But I must be a really good girl down deep, because I just can't bear the thought.  That is why I did not, unlike a lot of my college  friends, pose for the Southern girls spread of a popular gentlemen's magazine 25 years ago, even though I really had the body for it.  I listened to everyone's argument for nearly 2 weeks, but the thought that my daddy would somehow come across it was first and foremost in my mind. I think that they wound up scrapping the shoot, but my conscience was clear just the same. BTW.... My dad is currently fascinated with FB, according to my step-mom. She said that he loves to read everything that we ( the children/grandchildren) post.

I am sure that Darling Hubby would appreciate them (no, scratch that, I know him too well: he would lust over them obsessively and I would probably never see him, or them, again), but that is not enough of a reason to do it.

I would love to be pampered and go through all the fuss to pose for them. I have some nice, matching underwear (not the white cotten granny-panties and sports bra I'm wearing now) that I can still get into. I even have one pair of thong underwear. They are as uncomfortable as all get-out, but I'm sure I could stand them for a photo shoot. I'm told I'm photogenic, so I'm sure they would turn out quite nicely. But I just can't get past the fact that it would be me, in my underwear, freckles and all.

I wonder what they can do with a pair of flannel shorts and a "Casual Day" tee-shirt.


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