Help! My Son Paints Nudes
I braced my legs and dug my nails into the railing to avoid falling down the stairs and slipping into a coma.
I was in bed the evening The Boyfriend returned from visiting our youngest, a painting major at an excellent art school in the south. As I lay half asleep, he crawled into bed and whispered, "I have three big surprises for you in the morning." "That's nice," I murmured, thinking he might have finally bought me that soup pot I’ve asked for the last nine years, and then drifted back to sleep.
The following morning, Phil jumped out of bed like he was on a caffeine high, quickly showered, and raced down the stairs. I showered and dressed, my curiosity rising, wondering just what could get my husband this excited.
About halfway down the stairs, I spotted the "surprises." I braced my legs and dug my nails into the railing to keep from falling down the stairs and slipping into a coma!
Three life-size paintings of women dressed in their natural glory—if by "dressed" you mean wearing absolutely nothing—propped up on my living room wall. The morning sun shone on all their bits and pieces!
My jaw hit the floor with a resounding thud that probably woke the neighbors. My husband was doubled over, laughing so hard he was in danger of pulling a muscle.
“Why did you bring them HERE?” I managed to croak out. It was practically a crime against decor. My mind raced with horror at the thought of our teenage paperboy glancing in and seeing our naked guests. I could practically hear his exhilaration and his mother's threats to sue us!
Barely able to contain his giggles, my husband said, “Wyatt has nowhere else to store them. And come on, don’t they look lovely in our living room?” “NO!” I exclaimed, clutching the banister as if my life depended on it. “The thought of my little boy seeing those models in all their glory?! I might need therapy after this!” I briefly considered poking out my mind's eye, picturing a scene more dramatic than ‘Titanic’—except instead of a boat, we were sinking under the weight of questionable art choices. In a fit of sheer desperation, I grabbed a sheet and covered those ladies up so they wouldn’t catch a chill. I mean, really—nude and cold? That’s just rude. “You have three days to find them a new home, or they’re going to the dump,” I declared firmly, channeling my inner art critic. “And if you know who those girls are, please spare me the details. I've already hit my daily quota of trauma.”
I comforted myself with one thought: Botticelli’s mom would probably agree that some things are better left behind closed doors... or at least behind a well-placed sheet!
~
A joyful heart is good medicine - Proverbs, 17:22, ESV
Encourage us. How do you handle embarrassment?
