Photo Phobic

I don't know anyone who enjoys having their picture taken.

I had the digital camera out yesterday at work and was snapping individual photos of the staff for the yearbook. Each time I rounded a corner with camera in hand someone groaned, rolled their eyes and turned their back to me. I'd plead, "Come on, turn around... it's for the record book!" They'd shuffle and their shoulders would slump, they'd tip their head, smile awkwardly and look totally forced.

Six, seven, eight photos later, it was my turn. I hand off the camera to the nearest adult and ready myself for my shot. I take a deep breath, suck in my gut and tighten up my tummy muscles as best as I can. I fake a close mouthed smile. Not too much chicklet teeth and shiny gums. The flash goes and I ask to see it (like I will ever approve). Ahck. EEw. Boobs McGillicutty. I make a mental note to never wear that shirt again and ask 'Take another?'

This time I smile a little wider. Some teeth, though I try to keep my upper lip down lower. At the same time I try to puff up my lips a little as once I smile bigger my lips thin out and disappear. Completely unnatural. FLASH!

OMG. What is up with that? I don't want the person taking the photo to think I am a completely self-indulgent nut so I say thanks for their time and meander down the hall to find someone else with better photo skills.

"Excuse me... I am taking pictures for the yearbook, would you take mine?" Pose. Suck in. Smile. FLASH. "Thank you." I grab the camera and immediately zoom in on the picture to find that my eyes are half closed. Oops, it looks like I've been in a chartreuse vw bug with a peace sign painted on the roof smoking up with Cheech and Chong. " Not great. Would you mind taking one more?"

They oblige (FLASH) and I take the camera back, say thanks and then hide around the corner where I can assess myself under a microscopic fault-finding lens.

OhmiGawd. Each digital picture I flip through isn't a good representation of me. I keep hoping with each photo I examine that I will look like someone else.

But no.
Its just me.
Me with a roll over the waistband of my pants.
Me with half closed eyes.
Me with no upper lip.
Me with giant boobs. (Mind you the person who took that photo was shorter than me - from that angle my head looks oddly small)

'Snap out of it!' I say to myself.

I decide to choose the worst of the worst (from the hips up, my head is turned slightly to the side and my eyes are rolling somewhat back in my head) just to teach myself a lesson.

I am who I am.
The boobs.
The rolls.
The sticky-uppy hair.
The thin upper-lip.
The chicklet teeth.

I decide that those who see the picture in the yearbook will remember me for NONE of those things. They will remember me for a smile at the door. A laugh down the hall. The stories and friendship shared. The way I loved their children.

I turn on the camera and stretch out my own arm. FLASH*

Shit. Still me.
Hey, I'm only human.