"What are you doing?", my friend Susan asked as I paraded through the rounders at K-Mart trying not to broadcast my entire phone conversation.
"Just Christmas shopping", I replied.
"Do you have some time before you pick up the boys from school?"
Hmmm, a loaded question. Not very quick on my feet, I replied "Yes". What am I getting into?
"We just need to just take a few pictures of you trying on pants."
Huh? Susan's husband is a photographer but I didn't know anything about his work. This image came to my mind - me wriggling my bum into a pair of jeans while the camera clicked furiously focusing on my better half. Kind of erotic and sexy, so I headed right over to the studio.
Boy was I disappointed. They needed someone to model old lady jeans. You know the kind. Elastic waist, and full legs. Comfort over fashion. Check that. Comfort, no fashion. I even had to hike them up right underneath my breasts, just like my grandma did, to get them to look right. My only consolation was they had to pin the material back from my legs as they were swimming in old lady hell. And, oh yeah, these were only waist down photos, so I'd be incognito.
This is humiliating. My first and last modeling job, I thought. Then they handed me a check. I thought this was just a favor for a friend. I had no idea I would get paid.
"Call me, on the line. Call me, call me, any, anytime" I sang, in my best Blondie impersonation, skipping out the door.
Look for my "work" in the Sunday sales flyers. I'll be the one with the forty year old legs in the gunny sack pants. I'm sure you'll be able to tell the difference.