Work. How uninteresting and boring. My employers didn't help make
it fun, either. They hated my constant immaturity and need to play around
and joke. I'd learned at a young age to be "sophisticated" and boring
around them.
I've been working as a model since I was seven. I modeled children's clothes until I was eighteen. For the past three years, I'd modeled lingerie, underwear, pajamas, my face, but never my full body. My breasts had been photographed, but that was the most I'd ever exposed. I wasn't modest in any kind of revealing clothing, but full nudity bothered me.
As I pulled into my parking space, I saw my mother's chaffeur was also pulling in. I rolled my eyes and got out of the car as she approached me.
"It's really not necessary for you to drive to work everyday like this. I don't want it to seem like my daughter can't afford a car and a driver," my mother, Clarice Monica Houston, said. I really loved this woman, but she had to be the biggest rich snob I'd ever met.
"I like driving, Mom. It's not that big of a deal."
"Oh, but I can assure you it is! My daughter is not poor street trash!"
"It doesn't--" I paused and defeatedly changed the subject. "What am I doing today?" There's no arguing with my mother. She was strong and very stubborn so anything wrong to her was just wrong, no matter what. At times her shallowness disgusted me, but I loved her nonetheless. She knew I hated it, but I'm sure she hated that I didn't pamper myself.
"You will be modeling your entire body," she said sternly, as if to say that I had to and there was no way around it. I was shocked.
"I've--but I've... Mom, I don't think I can. Andrew won't accept it," I stammered. She stared at me coldly.
"You can, Elaine Marie, and you will. Your husband's preferences are none of your concern. You've modeled almost your entire body. You had better be able to accept this," she lectured.
"Mother, this is disgusting! I am proud of my body, but I am NOT the centerfold of a Playboy!"
"You'll do it and you'll enjoy it! I was kind enough to create this job for you when we didn't need a model. I make you good money! You had better be grateful for what I've given you! Go in there and do the shoot!" She shouted. People had stopped now to see what was going on and I was suddenly very self conscious.
"I'm going inside," I muttered, spinning on my heel and stalking to the building.
"That's a girl," my mother said arrogantly.
My drive home was earlier than I had expected. I didn't want to think about what had happened or what would happen, so I concentrated on my driving. It was then I realized that I'm a horrible driver when I'm angry. I was going atleas twenty miles over the speed limit and I almost ran four people off the road. I was lucky there were no cops around or I would've been arrested.
Ever since I could remember, my mother had always been a bully to me. She pushed me to do things I wasn't comfortable with, always saying it was for "the greater good" or some bull like that. My father was scared to death of the woman and would never come to my defense while she was around. However, as soon as she walked away, he was there to comfort me and say how she was wrong but she loved me and only wanted the best for me.
Maybe she really did, but who knows. In the twenty-one years of my life, I'd never been able to read that woman. I hated her emotionlessness.
She thought she had the right to just cut me out of her life as if I hadn't been her only child and her only hope of ever having grand children. I didn't know what to feel or think, but unvoluntarily, I felt hurt and thought about how much I loved her. Despite her meanness and her horrible temper, I still loved her. At some point in my life, she had been my whole world and that was all that I could think.
All I'd ever wanted was her acceptance. I wanted, more than anything, for her to be proud of me. I had to make her proud. I had to make up for the pain I had undoubtedly caused her.
I've been working as a model since I was seven. I modeled children's clothes until I was eighteen. For the past three years, I'd modeled lingerie, underwear, pajamas, my face, but never my full body. My breasts had been photographed, but that was the most I'd ever exposed. I wasn't modest in any kind of revealing clothing, but full nudity bothered me.
As I pulled into my parking space, I saw my mother's chaffeur was also pulling in. I rolled my eyes and got out of the car as she approached me.
"It's really not necessary for you to drive to work everyday like this. I don't want it to seem like my daughter can't afford a car and a driver," my mother, Clarice Monica Houston, said. I really loved this woman, but she had to be the biggest rich snob I'd ever met.
"I like driving, Mom. It's not that big of a deal."
"Oh, but I can assure you it is! My daughter is not poor street trash!"
"It doesn't--" I paused and defeatedly changed the subject. "What am I doing today?" There's no arguing with my mother. She was strong and very stubborn so anything wrong to her was just wrong, no matter what. At times her shallowness disgusted me, but I loved her nonetheless. She knew I hated it, but I'm sure she hated that I didn't pamper myself.
"You will be modeling your entire body," she said sternly, as if to say that I had to and there was no way around it. I was shocked.
"I've--but I've... Mom, I don't think I can. Andrew won't accept it," I stammered. She stared at me coldly.
"You can, Elaine Marie, and you will. Your husband's preferences are none of your concern. You've modeled almost your entire body. You had better be able to accept this," she lectured.
"Mother, this is disgusting! I am proud of my body, but I am NOT the centerfold of a Playboy!"
"You'll do it and you'll enjoy it! I was kind enough to create this job for you when we didn't need a model. I make you good money! You had better be grateful for what I've given you! Go in there and do the shoot!" She shouted. People had stopped now to see what was going on and I was suddenly very self conscious.
"I'm going inside," I muttered, spinning on my heel and stalking to the building.
"That's a girl," my mother said arrogantly.
My drive home was earlier than I had expected. I didn't want to think about what had happened or what would happen, so I concentrated on my driving. It was then I realized that I'm a horrible driver when I'm angry. I was going atleas twenty miles over the speed limit and I almost ran four people off the road. I was lucky there were no cops around or I would've been arrested.
Ever since I could remember, my mother had always been a bully to me. She pushed me to do things I wasn't comfortable with, always saying it was for "the greater good" or some bull like that. My father was scared to death of the woman and would never come to my defense while she was around. However, as soon as she walked away, he was there to comfort me and say how she was wrong but she loved me and only wanted the best for me.
Maybe she really did, but who knows. In the twenty-one years of my life, I'd never been able to read that woman. I hated her emotionlessness.
She thought she had the right to just cut me out of her life as if I hadn't been her only child and her only hope of ever having grand children. I didn't know what to feel or think, but unvoluntarily, I felt hurt and thought about how much I loved her. Despite her meanness and her horrible temper, I still loved her. At some point in my life, she had been my whole world and that was all that I could think.
All I'd ever wanted was her acceptance. I wanted, more than anything, for her to be proud of me. I had to make her proud. I had to make up for the pain I had undoubtedly caused her.