‘I still don’t see any sparks!’ announced the man wielding the camera. ‘Try to be more sexy please! Play with the table, you know…‘
Sweet mother of Jesus, this photo-shoot will never end.
I’d been straddled here since two in the afternoon, trying to strike a perfect pose so that everyone can go home a happy man. But either I’m doing it wrong or this amateur photographer is a total dumb-ass, nothing seems to be working so far.
‘Again,’ he says holding up his index finger, ‘Remember that we’re selling the table, not your gown!’
Huh? What exactly does he expect me to do? Sprawl myself on the table in an inappropriate position so that the table is suddenly more attractive? I wanted to yell at him then, yell at him that this is the single most crappiest-looking piece of furniture I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Yell at him that if all he needed was ‘sparks’, maybe I can set the table on fire! That should indeed make for an interesting photograph! But I won’t. I can’t afford to.
So I sigh and nod at him in understanding. This is gonna be a long night indeed.
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