Whoa! Do I feel sorry for Miss California.
It's got to be SO embarrassing, having been caught out in the 'Nude Pictures Surfacing from Long Ago' ongoing titillation in our oh so puritanical but wish-we-were-hip country. Right?
I mean, I know YOU certainly have never ever ever ever ever let anyone AT ALL, take a picture of your with your breasts bared.
Not even a self-portrait, where you could take the pictures over and over getting the shading just right, the drapery almost closed, the pink rouge brushed right next to the shadow and glossy sheen, so that in the end, after five thousand tries you ended up with a picture you maybe showed to the favorite cat.
Certainly you will never find a nude picture of ME surfacing out of the blue, oops, where there is even a hint of nudity.
I'm not even trying to be Miss California or the next Jayne Mansfield or even Mrs. Playboy Bunny, and even I know to DELETE IMMEDIATELY ALL material I would never ever ever ever want to appear anywhere, even two hundred years after my ...er...passing.
I lost my camera a month ago. God knows how or where. I also lost, therefore, the memory card. And the first thought that leapt into my mind were those nude photos I'd taken in that shadowy boudoir in Paris, that rainy day when I was stuck in the apartment, and yes, a trifle bored.
The second thought was the crystal clear memory of having pressed that delete button.
The DELETE button--It pays to know how to use it.
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