I don’t want your photograph
I don’t need your photograph
All I’ve got is a photograph, you’ve gone straight to my head
Karma is a bitch and she has a great sense of humor. Earlier this week with bemusement, I read Ann St. Vincent’s post about how she multi-tasked herself into a panic of possible discovery. Ann’s post has caused the whole Google+ conundrum to circle in the back of my mind. I don’t believe I will have a problem with Gmail because I keep all the accounts separate and I don’t post on my blog from anything other than my laptop, but hey, we are all human like I found out yesterday.
My Achilles Heel is photos. I apparently have quite an exhibitionist streak in me that had gone undetected until recently. This side of me wants to break loose evidently. I need to figure out how the hell to keep my sexy selfies secure. I cannot hand my phone over to anyone to take a photo of me. It causes high anxiety in me because if they hit my camera roll, they will get an eyeful. I use my camera quite a bit for work, so it is a high risk game that I am playing. I got a cold dose of reality about this vulnerability yesterday. Settle back, it’s time for one of Maggie’s stories.
Yesterday I woke up and was listening to Dan Savage’s podcast. The sun was filtering into my room, so the light was soft and beautiful. I had slept in my undies only. The air was deliciously cool, so I was relaxed, feeling sexy and content. What better time to snap a couple of erotic selfies? Hy’s Boobday had inspired me. So I took a few snapshots. Why not? I planned on sharing them later at the appropriate time.
I head off to my hairdresser with my girlfriend for a great afternoon of highlights, haircut and the company of two women I adore. It is the first time my girlfriend is getting her hair done by my young, beautiful, talented stylist. My daughter is at a wedding as a bridesmaid, so she sends me some gorgeous pictures of her and her boyfriend. I am sharing them because my girlfriend and stylist know my daughter. Lovely.
At the same time, I am getting an IM through Facebook’s Messenger from DB. He’s wanting to know if I’m getting any action. As a dating coach, I keep him in the loop. I have become his fantasy fuck so when he’s feeling randy, I’ll get some texts from him. He is handy on occasion so I’ll send him the occasional boob shot. What a perfect time to shoot one over to him! But for some weird technical reason, he can’t see photos on Facebook’s Messenger, so I always have to text them.
I have no idea with the fuck happened. The photo went to my daughter. Oh yes. I couldn’t stop it and watched in horror as it went off to her in cyber world. I begin hysterically laughing. I am beet red, laughing with tears streaming down my face. I am gasping. Unable to speak. The salon (which is thankfully very small) comes to dead quiet. “I just sent my daughter a nude photo”. Their looks were priceless.
Instantly I get a text from my daughter: “I think you just accidentally sent me a picture”.
I respond, “Opps. We are hysterical over here. My bad.”
“Yup”. She answers.
I decide to take ownership for my idiocy. “Soooo sorry. I hope you aren’t traumatized. I am truly horrifically embarrassed.”
“No problem. Love you bunches.” Now, don’t I have the coolest daughter in the universe?? She continues, “Also, seriously don’t worry about it, better me than someone else!”
I respond, “Right? We are hysterically laughing”
I need to sloooowwww down. Slow the fuck down. Breathe.
So since the exhibitionist in me doesn’t really give a shit and I know you are curious about the photo I sent here. Here it is. Enjoy.