Take A Dirty Picture For Me

Forget flowers, forget candlelit dinners, forget moonlit walks along the sea front, modern day romance is all about trying before you buy.
Publish date:

When Taio Cruz and that Kesha bird with all the $’s in her name released their hit (I use that word in the loosest of terms) single Dirty Picture everyone went all 18th century about it. What do you mean a dirty picture? Do you mean a picture of some mud? Oh, a picture of you in your smalls how bloody crude. Sadly though, the fact is “Send me a picture of you” is becoming one of the most overused requests in the young males vocabulary, that and “Get me another beer bitch”. You start dating someone, it’s going (you think) very well and then there it is... again. Apparently any longer than two dates and you boys start to get impatient, you want to see the goods, whether it’s that you think we’re hiding some horrific scar under our maxi dress or you just haven’t got laid for a while and need something new to spice up your wank bank “try before you buy” picture messaging is the modern day equivalent of holding hands, it’s the norm. But what really goes through our minds when we check our messages and find this little gem and what more importantly do we do with the ones you send us? Read on to find out...

What we think when you ask us for a picture:

Well first of all we panic, the type of panic you feel depends on what kind of girl you are, for those of us who loath this practise it’s a moral conundrum, you don’t want to come across as a frigid bitch but you’re sure as hell not going to strip down for some blackberry messenger action. You debate whether to send a message which simply reads “Fuck off pervert” but decide that’s too strong so settle for “Ummm.. good things come to those who wait” yep, that old Chestnut. The amount of times that I have pedalled that bullshit out over the last couple of months, it’s getting to the point where Guinness may as well start paying me commission. If a girl ever says this to you want she really means is “You are an absolute retard and you are definitely never seeing me naked. Ever”. The second kind of panic is the oh shit I ate two burgers for lunch and now you want me to take a picture of myself with no clothes on panic. The panic which sees us (I use us to represent all women) run half naked towards our flatmates clutching a bottle of baby oil and our best underwear – this is not as sexy as it sounds - shouting I need you take a picture and I need you to take it good. Six hours later and the perfect image has been assembled, every angle considered so that we look at least a stone lighter than we do in real life, taken in black and white because let’s not lie we all know that can hide a multitude of sins and posed so hard we put Victoria Beckham to shame. See now you may have been digging to check out if underneath our clothes we have a body Michael Mcmanus’ twin would be ashamed to call her own you but will really never find out until you get to the goods in real life, which is sadly, for you guys, the fatal flaw of try before you buy culture.

What we do when you send us one:

Firstly there is the obvious, we assess your body for any possible flaws; ill placed moles, 8 pint strong beer belly, unfortunately crafted chest hair. We’ll probably send the picture to ourselves via e-mail so that we can enlarge it to get a proper look also storing it safely so that if you ever do anything to piss us off we can ‘accidentally’ e-mail it out to your mother/sister/co-workers. The next thing we do is to send it to our friends. Depending on how goodlooking you are the number of people we send it to can range from 1 or 2, only our nearest and dearest if you’re a tad on the ugly side usually with the accompanying message “What the fuck am I meant to do with this?” or, if you’re super hot, we’ll send it to pretty much every girl we know this side of the Atlantic. When we’re at the pub we’ll happily show these pictures to practical strangers (sorry if you’re reading this man who most recently sent me some pictures of himself, I do mean you) sometimes to our work colleagues and if you’re really lucky we’ll put them on twitter for the whole world to see. Whilst in your heads we store these pictures for our own private entertainment we have Google images and topless Robert Pattinson for that part of our lives. So, the next time you get your kit off, whip out your best Calvin Kleins and sidle up to the mirror remember it’s not just the object of your affection that’s going to be getting a glimpse of your goods it’s the whole world and it’s mother.

For more from Olivia Foster click here.

To follow Sabotage Times on Twitter click here.