SAY CHEESE!

smile.gif
                                                                      “I’m faking it? No you’re faking it!”

I hate taking photographs. Like legit, if someone put a gun to my head and asked me to smile for the camera and told me he would let me go if I smiled nicely, search for me with a gunshot wound in a dump somewhere.

I guess that’s not funny.

Oh well. Take two.

I wouldn’t say anti-photogenicism (yeah, that’s a word – look it up) runs in the family because my elder sister photographs like a dream. My brother on the other hand – you know those kids who smiled for the camera and then when you looked at the photos, they looked like they were in intense pain? – yeah, he was/(is?) one of those kids.

And don’t even get me started on my brace face years. Today when I look back at my final-year school pictures, I can feel the pain oozing out of the photos by the sheer effort it took me to smile trying to show as little metal as physically possible without ending up looking like someone punched me in the balls (I don’t have any.. not because someone punched it into oblivion.. but because I am a woman) right before taking the photograph.

I studied in a weird school where we didn’t have yearly class photographs taken. And for that, I’m forever grateful.

Now imagine this person (as in..me) being asked to have a good picture taken to be sent for suitable-match “hunting”? Like Tinder, but instead of an app, you have middle aged uncles/aunties sending around your photos and sending you photos of ‘nice boys’ back. And if you’re interested, more details follow. And instead of hooking up, the swiping right results in marriage. No big deal.

bye-bitch

Excuse me while I go off screaming into the sunset. Alone.

Advertisements