I've always thought of myself as a cat lover. Even as a kid, I was crazy about my cat.
So when Nancy Rudolph, of Peninsula Friends of Animals, called me to ask if she could take my photograph - my nude photograph - for the 2007 Charity Cat Calendar, a project that supports their nonprofit, no-kill shelter located in Port Angeles, I agreed. After all, "Calendar Girls" is a favorite movie of mine. And any project willing to put real women up for viewing, naked or otherwise, ranks way up there with me and is always a welcome contrast to what takes place in the advertising world where models' bums are no bigger than mine was at birth.
But it was more than that. All aflutter with flattery, not only did I want to believe the sensationally sincere lie that my 40-something-year-old body could be considered "calendar material" (although of course that helps), I thought it would be a bit of spicy fun. I suppose I'll always be an ex-Catholic girl raring to sin a little, a perennial time lag between now and that monumental day when I truly feel like an adult.
You know how sometimes, naked in the bathroom, you pose in front of the mirror, take a look, take another look, and maybe do a little booty dance while trying to capture someone fun in the looking glass? Well, as the photo shoot drew nearer, I began looking a little too closely, trying to see myself as others would see me (OK, thighs a little dimply ... butt ... well ... ditto), attempting to lessen the chagrin by imploring myself to stand proud. Proud! Humph.
How many of us naturally have the body image so public a display of nudity requires? Maybe it's another ex-Catholic thing that embarrassment and nakedness are inherently entwined.
"I'm not embarrassed," I told my husband. "I'm just ..." He waited. I paused. "Embarrassed."
But when Nancy showed up at my door, the full realization of what I was about to do hit me. I have a special set of coping tools for these moments: denial and denial. No problem. Ready set go. Inhibitions dropped along with my shawl!
To our delight, it was a fairy-tale fantasy photo shoot. Nancy liked the photo. Relieved to giggles, I liked the photo. Which is rare. Most photos of moi cause my eyes to pop and my head to thrust forward while I try to figure out why my mother is staring back at me.
Then, and this is where everything about-faces, I e-mail the very naked photo of me to my trusted friend before ringing her up. "Well..." is all she said, in that way that is code for "ARE YOU INSANE?"
And when my husband looked at the image, he laughed. Even a guffaw pushed its way out. Which surprised me. I certainly thought he deserved to die in that moment. In a matter of hours my excitement went from liftoff to crash. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a nameless pang scraping my insides.
All the same, self-consciousness is no excuse for chickening out. Which I did. Sort of. And my lack of courage still haunts me.
Nancy was patient. Anyone who has the endurance to photograph a dozen women scuffling with ego would have to be.
"We want you to be happy with the photo," she said. "And we want your husband to be happy, too."
We met for a reshoot. A less-naked portrait ensued and, sorry, but that's the photo of me that appears in the 2007 Charity Cat Calendar (www.charitycatcalendars.com). Shawl strategically stationed. No major selling feature exposed.
Of course, there are 12 other beautiful women uniquely posed in the calendar and on its cover, their hidden gems obvious.
And what are these hidden gems? Their hearts and minds, of course.[[In-content Ad]]
