NOT A JOB FOR HUSBANDS

One year ago last October, I created my website with the help of my girlfriend's son, Milo. The time had come for me to make myself real as a writer. I brainstormed about the layout, visualized the design and thought about how I'd like to present myself to readers--from casual drop-ins to editors who might need more information about me.

I also knew that I needed a photo or two on various pages as a way of saying "hello" to visitors. After all, in cyberspace we need to make connections with each other visually.

Because my husband is a good photographer, I enlisted his help. I chose the "photo shoot" day and started the primping process early on, as any woman would. I slicked my hair back, put on makeup, positioned my earrings, and stood in front of the mirror practicing poses that Bruce would be able to snap and later hang on his office wall with pride.

He asked me where I'd like the photo shoot to take place. I said, "The garden, because the background will be nice."

So the two of us exited our office door and went into our little garden in the back of the house. A few years earlier we had both worked hard on this special area to make it a quiet retreat with a glider, bench, beautiful plants and trailing vines. The operative words here are: beautiful plants and trailing vines--two of Bruce's greatest loves (he's a landscape architect).

As soon as we were in our little garden, he said, "Where do you want to sit?"
I said, "I don't know. As the photographer, you're supposed to tell me where to sit." He then pointed to the glider and I obediently sat down. Within seconds, I started swaying back and forth. Not helpful for a photo shoot, which requires a still head and not one bobbing around like a hula doll on a dashboard.

When the swinging subsided, I sat there patiently waiting for Bruce's direction. Dead silence. I said, "What do you want me to DO?"
He said, "Just do anything. Smile, look into the camera."

I hated being photographed and could feel myself freezing up. I needed his prompting: "Head down, look to the right, eyes to the left. Smile, frown, cry. Think of the cats, laugh out loud." Anything to help me loosen up. But he couldn't offer any art direction and I sat there in a petrified state.

Then the fighting started. "Bruce, please tell me what to do!"
"I'm not good with people," he said.
"But you don't understand. This is for my website, and I need this done TODAY! You're the one that has to do it!"
"Just start smiling and I'll start clicking," he said.

Smile? How? With teeth, without teeth? Half-smile, open smile? Help!!!

Needless to say, this session continued with a tangible tension and wasn't a bonding experience between husband and wife. When we came into the house to view the photos, I almost started crying. Perhaps it was a subversive act on his part, or simply a revelation for me that Bruce really IS better with foliage than with faces.

In some of the photos, the staghorn fern--forked like a two-fingered peace sign--protruded directly over my head making me look like a bozo. In others, the delicate snow bush leaves draped over my eyes giving me the appearance of a pirate with a newfangled designer patch.

And in a few frames, purple flowers (his real focus) bulged behind my head. Vines? They looked great, but I looked ridiculous, my face lost in a sea of twisting runners with little jasmine blossoms opened behind me in a stunning display.

To add fuel to the fire, a few of these pics even had an ugly fence in the background! What was that all about? A precursor to a new design idea?

Heaven help those of us who enlist our husbands for jobs that are really meant for others. It's kind of like having a spouse take care of a plumbing problem when he's really better at polishing the silver. You just don't go there.

So now that it's been a year, and my homepage still reflects back to me memories of my first "photo shoot," I'm beginning to think who I might want to ask to take pictures again.

One thing's for sure: I'm not going to ask my husband, who clearly does better with plants than with people, and should remain behind the lens only for snapping a flower in full bloom, or a staghorn fern...without a beloved wife's head in the forefront.

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