My momma complains that every time someone points a camera in my direction, I make a face. She's right. Long after I'm gone, my great, great grandchildren will see the pictures of me with my eyes crossed and my tongue out and my lip snarled and will think what a hoot I must have been. Or they'll think that I was not right in the head and they'll pray that the affliction from which great, great grandmomma suffered was not hereditary. Either way, I will be remembered.
I try to take better pictures for my momma. But I really feel like it's not in my genetic make-up to take a nice picture.
This weekend, I actually acquired photographic proof that I am just not made to take a serious picture.
My uncle John married his blushing bride 50 years ago. All of the family gathered to celebrate their bedded wiss wedded bliss at their home church. As my aunt Liz was making her way around the room greeting those who came to wish her well, she came upon two of her sisters-in-law: my own momma and my fabulous Aunt Kay.
Aunt Liz's older son, Larry said, "That's a great pic right there." He pulled out his camera, as did I and my cousin Courtney, Aunt Kay's daughter.
"Say cheese," one of us called out and this was picture we got:
Aunt Kay, on the left, strikes some kind of pose that Madonna wouldn't even sing about. Aunt Liz, in the center, apparently thought that was the best time to start a conversation with someone who's not in the picture. And my own momma, on the right, smiles while still wearing her sunglasses, circa 1986, because she thinks they make her "look like Raquel Welch."
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| Raquel Welch = My Own Momma. Uh-huh. Source |
Seriously, doesn't make this seem so bad.
