And THIS Is Why I Will Never Be A Model | Life Love and Hiccups: And THIS Is Why I Will Never Be A Model
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Monday 17 November 2014

And THIS Is Why I Will Never Be A Model

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If every Monday had a name, this week's Monday would be called Masshole.  I would call it Asshole for short because I think that name would suit it very very much.

This morning I had a photo shoot scheduled with Mother & Baby Magazine. I have recently joined the team as a contributor along with some other gorgeous bloggers and we were all having our photos done for an upcoming issue. 

I have been in denial about this shoot from the moment it was booked in, and as soon as I heard the first sparrow farting this morning and realised that today was D day, I went into meltdown mode.

Why didn't I fast for the last month?

Why didn't I get more sleep?

Will they have enough makeup to hide the luggage under my eyes.?

Is it too late to get lipo on my whole body?

"Pull yourself together Sonia" I told myself over and over again as I brushed my teeth, plucked at my mono brow and practised smiling and tucking my chin out and in like Google told me I should.

I had been instructed to bring a white shirt with me for the shoot, so I had snuck two into the pile of school shirts last night hoping that my hubby wouldn't mind ironing them for me rather than me scorching them in my own pathetic attempt. I hung those freshly ironed babies over the stair rail near the front door so I wouldn't forget them on my way out.

After sending the kids off to school, I took to my head with my GHD, poured half a bucket of Visine into my eyes and wolfed down a third cup of coffee.

"Errr semi passable" I growled at myself in the mirror on the way out the door.

I headed off on my drive to the city, assuming I had allowed myself plenty of time to get there, park and maybe even grab a coffee to down some Valium with before I was due at the studio.


I had already had way too much coffee this morning, as if I could handle any more.

About 15 minutes into the drive I hit the mother of all traffic jams and I figured it would probably be best if I rang the gorgeous Fi who was organising the shoot to let her know I could be running late and as soon as she answered the phone it hit me....

FUUUUUUUdge kit!!!!! I forgot the white shirts.

Talk about adding to the stress.

Eventually I made it into the city and with precisely 8 minutes to spare I drove into the closest parking station to the studio that I could find. It wasn't until I was through the gates that I read the sign and realised that this handy parking station was going to cost me a hefty $89 bucks.

Holy shit!

I now had approximately 6 minutes to get my hands on a white shirt and run the block and a half to the studio.

I ran into literally the only clothing store I passed between my car and the studio and I bought a white shirt that was far too tight at the waist, too gapey in the arms and basically so many kinds of wrong that I hated it ... but figured it would have to do.

When I arrived at the studio I was told there was a little time to spare and so I bolted back downstairs and ran around the streets like a total nutjob until I found myself two other shirts that I liked better and actually fitted.

On the way back to the studio I tried to return the first shirt at the original shop, but they wouldn't take it back. Of course, cause it's Monday and this Monday is called Asshole.

So I now have three new white shirts... plus the two at home freshly ironed and still hanging on the stairs where I had left them.

I finally I made it back to the studio where I collapsed into a chair for hair and make up. Those poor gorgeous souls sure had their work cut out for them. I sat there sweating like a pile of poo in the sun, and all I could think was "this is so not how I imagined today would play out... this was wayyyyy worse than I gave it credit for".

Eventually it was my turn to get in front of the camera and after watching some of the other girls nail it, I had half convinced myself I could possibly make it through this experience without making a complete dick of myself.

The cameraman, bless him, had the music playing and did his best to guide this poor lost soul. "Chin out, shoulder down, look left, bend one leg, smile..... you're doing great he called out as he clicked away.


Yeah I wasn't buying it.

"My hands?" I asked desperately... "What the hell do I do with these things?" I begged of him as I waved them around in my best Zoolander impersonation.

Who knew that those things attached to our torso could possibly feel so awkward and alien?

We got there in the end, and by got there I mean I survived it. Just.

If it weren't for the support of such awesome people, I think I would have just curled up in the corner until someone brought me ice cream and took me home.

I have come to realise though that there is a very good reason I am so comfortable being behind the camera rather than in front of it... and that is because basically I suck as a model. I'm far two awkward and unco for that kind of thing and I think in future it is maybe best I leave it to the pros... or at least someone who knows what to do with their arms and has at least half an idea what they are doing.

By the way, I have a few spare white shirts if anyone needs to borrow one.

How did your Monday treat you? Does it have a name?
Have you ever felt like a complete dick in front of the camera?

Wendy from Vegie Smugglers - she nailed it!