So I’m getting my official photo taken today. I really hate getting my picture taken. Part of the problem is that when I was much, much younger, my older brother told me that when your picture gets taken, a little bit of your soul got sucked out–and as proof, submitted that models were always airheads. (I don’t know why soulless was so easily translated into brainless.) In any event, I never believed him. But since my older brother was basically in charge of the family (Courtney mentions oh so casually), I had no choice but to obey his wishes, which meant that every time Dad took out his camera, we had to scream and run away and hide, or make faces so ridiculously contorted that Dad would give up on getting a decent photo.
The problem is that habit persists today, even when I wish I wouldn’t. Well, not the screaming and running away part–today, I am paying someone actual money to take pictures of me. No; the part that’s still there is the making faces bit. I don’t know why it is, but I always manage to have the dumbest look on my face when people take pictures of me.
The worst part is when people try to reassure me. “What are you talking about?” they ask. “You look perfectly normal in that picture.”
AAAHHHHHHH!!!!! I look like that all the time?!