I don’t take a good picture.
The pictures in which I look pretty good are random coincidences.
Like snow rollers or crop circles.
I come by it honestly.
My gramma, God rest her beautiful soul, rarely took a good picture in her entire life.
|This is probably the best picture I have ever taken. I am 42 in this picture. 42 years for a good picture. Also? I HAD TO TAKE 123 BAD PICTURES TO GET THIS ONE GOOD PICTURE. I wish I were lying.|
This is why most likely my children will forget what I look like when I am dead.
Because there is very little photographic proof of how bad a picture I take.
I see all these cute selfies with moms and their offspring everywhere.
Me + a good selfie is like Oprah Winfrey at a Dollar Tree.
Never the two shall meet.
|The beginning of the bad picture curse. Sophomore year, 1985. Can you say EYELINER?|
I have a crooked smile.
It is one of my imperfections.
I am OK with it on a daily basis.
But when it is time for me to smile at the birdy?
I overcompensate for it.
|In fairness to myself, we weren’t ready. But even my mom looks great candidly. It was her mom that passed this gene on to me. It must skip a generation.|
You know those romantic pictures of couples trying to take a selfie on the beach?
I have no idea what you are talking about.
It looks like I don’t even know the man kissing me.
Because overcompensating for a crooked smile.
Normal people look whimsical in a selfie on a beautiful summer day with a bestie.
I look like I am in pain.
A lot of the time, I just give up.
And take pictures of my knees.
Here are my knees having a great time at a Zac Brown concert.
Or of my feet.
Here they are relaxing in New York City.
And again in NYC.
A potentially great picture ruined by my tan lines.
And my cheesy, overcompensating smile.
Or I am upstaged by my boobs.
I don’t have large boobs.
My bra must have been workin’ overtime this night.
Or my bifocals AND my boobs.
Of course, we both look kind of tipsy so who knows, maybe it was that kind of night.
Or my hair.
You know that “beach hair”everyone on Pinterest is trying to get?
This is mine.
My husband apparently doesn’t like it either.
I cannot take a candid or action shot to save my life.
Marianne looks amazing.
I look like I am her grandmother.
Yes, I am wearing a snuggie.
On my birthday.
STOP ASKING ME TO TAKE SELFIES.
Until I had my first professional headshot taken last weekend.
For my Listen To Your Mother experience.
|courtesy of Balee Images|
I want her to follow me around everywhere I go.
I wish I could have her take all my selfies.
Well, then I guess they wouldn’t be selfies by definition.
You get the picture.
See what I did there?
I am a person who can appreciate a good hair/makeup/face/boob/outfit picture.
And cherish it.
Now my kids will know what I looked like.