So, today is photo-shoot day. Yay? Not!
You might ask yourself… Why? Why will this beautiful looking awesome girl have a fear for cameras? 🙂
Number one, I had taken pictures earlier this week on Tuesday before I remembered that Friday was photo-shoot day. This one is the real deal. It’s for the yearbook thingies. So it’ll last forever and ever. AND EVER.
And number two, cameras hate me.
It was one eve, one day of a year I can’t remember that it all began… Cameras the world over decided to hate on me and will do all in their power to ensure that any plan I had to keep pictures and prove to my children, when I am old and wrinkly, that I wasn’t always this bad will come to naught…nil. NOTHING. Picture after picture for about three-four years came out with me looking like something the cat thought was too disgusting to bring in. So, I developed a plan. The normal ‘cheese!’ and flash just wasn’t working and I needed to prove to my kids that they had a good-looking future to look up to and not the horrors of looking half-mad.
So, I developed a plan:
- Don’t plan what to wear out: on the off-chance that all non-living things are actually living (as I have always suspected), they could somehow mention it on twitter or Facebook that all cameras should beware or something. Plan in the mind. Then casually do a general laundry: washing, ironing… they’ll never know.
- Make-up is a no-no: they have barely ever worked so far so don’t depend on them when it actually matters and come off as Boo-Hoo the clown or worse, the cat zombie.
- Get there late: there is nothing worse than being earlier than the camera. It will spot you and go on make-her-ugly before you can blink. The cute pretty smile you practiced will come off as vampire and I am not talking twilight here. I am talking of when vampires were actually a scary piece of shit!
- Be last! The camera is tired and not conscious. First of all, roam around, hands in pocket feigning interest in everything except for the camera, then before camera knows what’s going on jump on it and Snap! Snap! Snap! You have your winners!
- Be spontaneous: there’s nothing worse than a stick-man taking pictures. No matter what he does he ends up as this one-dimensional figure. But you’re not. Be free. Take as many as possible. Even if the camera boots fast enough, your happiness and poses can deceive anyone to thinking the ugly pictures are you trying to be ugly, and not you being you.
A fool-proof plan. Or so I thought. Only I had forgotten that I had taken pictures earlier in the week and cameras world-wide were still very angry I had even had the nerve to post them on Facebook.
The day started normally enough. I woke up gazed at the ceiling some. Willed myself to stand up and didn’t. Pretty normal things. Then, the light went out and I realised I hadn’t ironed one single shirt. Not even half! Suits make me look older and, being the immature person I am I had no plans of that so, those were out, skirts can only fully be appreciated in heels but for some reason no one was wearing any and being that mine are 5 and half feet high and the sun was trying to fry my brain, it made sense to not ruin the cycle. I unleashed a shirt fitted enough to cancel out wrinkles and my trousers. Of recent my trouser has taken up a life of its own and has become quite a beauty… Then, mid-zipping the zip to the trouser went AWOL. Just like that! After much hammering and what-not. That was repaired. Then I heard the beast had being unleashed. VICTORIA… the wingless third-class Eagle that resides in Covenant University.
From the bowels of hell a wrath was unleashed in the hall. It ceases your pretty clothes and was reputed to have torn some. Jewellery are a NO, and towards the weekend, it ceases them on pretext. These items are never recovered. It searches your bag. Every girl hates her. Every boy prays against any marriage to her. Parents world-wide have cursed her. She is as fat as a house and as ugly as puke. She ceased a trouser of mine once and I have despise her. Somehow with God on my side and a cloak of invisibility I left the hall.
Then I got there and people were there. Lots and lots of people. Then someone shoved me in front of the camera, I heard the camera say “it’s her!” And before I could even perfect the smile I had tried out at the mirror for ten minutes… snap! flash! Next!!!
Depressed, I shuffled away to mourn and lick my wounds in private. The deed was done, for centuries to come I will be ridiculed… years from now my off-springs will see the picture and laugh away. I will be a mockery of a sham!
I was down but I was not defeated and I snuck behind camera and begged the photographer with my best googly eyes. And he said ok… we’ll have another go. And Wham! Bham! Pam! Three awesome pictures!
One small step for me… one great step for my kids…er… actually, I really don’t know. I think my kids will prefer a picture they can use to torment me? Mothers are really not appreciated as sex symbols are they? More as kitchen goddess and laundry princess…