Parallax

This is how a modeling gig works: Assorted assistants fuss over you, paint you, fiddle with your hair etc., then the lights go on, and the photographer says, “beautiful” or “perfect.”

This past couple of weeks, there have been zero modeling gigs on my calendar. I’ve seen entirely too many doctors (and they’ve seen too much of me, but that’s another matter).

But this is how a visit to the doctor goes: Assorted assistants fuss over you , paint you (with gel), fiddle with your hair etc., then the lights go on (or off, if it‘s an ultrasound), and the doctor says, “beautiful” or “perfect.”

Neither the photographers or the doctors are really talking about me at all, but the doctors even less so than the photogs. That’s almost as ‘ironic’ as a black fly in your frigging chardonnay.


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