Why is taking a simple picture so difficult?
I realised recently that I don’t have very many photos of myself, or the people that I love. I’d like to take more photos of events in my life so that when I’m old I can look back and enjoy the memories attached to them. Looking at the sad bunch of images I have now, it will be a depressing album. Here are some of the conversations I can look forward to with my future grandchildren going through my albums:
- “Granny, why do you always have a giant arm in photos?” – I don’t know how this happens. In real life, I assure you that my arms are both normal size. In pictures it’s like I have one gigantic flabby arm. Does anyone else suffer with this affliction?
- “Granny, why do you always have a grotesque expression when taking a selfie?” – Well future grandchild, it appears that Granny is incapable of taking a presentable selfie which doesn’t feature slightly cock eyes/ grotesque face. I’m sure I never pull these faces in real life. It’s quite tragic really – every day Granny was tormented on social media by others’ wonderfully taken selfies. Often they were taken with seemingly no effort, on nights out when people were incredibly drunk. Granny endeavoured to take such selfies whilst sober, and couldn’t manage. So instead Granny decided to take anti-selfies which were a form of selfie whereby she tried to look as repulsive as possible in such images in the hope that people would stop taking them. However, as you can see, people didn’t. And tragically, as Granny was not good at taking her own pictures, these are the only lasting reminders of her lifetime.
Maybe I shouldn’t have children, just to avoid these kinds of conversations…
I once watched an episode of SpongeBob that showed a deranged chocolate salesman pretending to have a rare medical condition where his skin was made of tissue paper and his bones made of glass, in a sympathy bid to make SpongeBob and Patrick buy his chocolate bars. Every time he moved all you heard were his screams and glass shattering, as well as tragic violin music playing in the background. This is the closest analogy I have found to the ordeal I go through wearing shoes. That or a Greek tragedy, where you think two people (or in this case a girl and a pair of perfect shoes) are destined to be together, for them later to get smighted by Zeus/ killed by a Minotaur etc.
I love shoes. I buy shoes. I just can’t seem to wear shoes. My feet hate me. My feet want to be free. My feet are so controlling that they impose conditions on when and how I can wear them – they basically hold my feet to (crippling) ransom! When I buy a beautiful pair of new shoes I find myself crying at the till much to the horror of the assistant (“SECURITY!”) thinking, how will they punish me this time?! Here are some of their demands:
- Suede boots – You can be worn on a dry day between the temperatures of 10 and 15 degrees. If you violate these conditions you will receive a shock in the form of agonising cramps (too cold) or blisters (too hot) depending on how we feel. Hell, sometimes we’ll throw a curveball and give you both.
- Leather boots – You may be worn with socks not tights otherwise you will suffer the consequences. If you fail to adhere to our strict instructions we will peel off and send you the skin off the sole of your foot. Please bear in mind, we may choose not to act on specific occasions to lull you into a false sense of security, but if you try it again you will be punished twice as severely.
- High heels – You may buy high heels between 2 and 3.5 inches in height and you may NEVER wear stilettos. If you do not comply we will break your ankle(s)!
- Doc Martins – We’re aware these are meant to be comfy, but we don’t really like purple. So we’ll arbitrarily punish you for your fashion choices as we see fit.
- Comfiest shoes I have ever worn – If worn more than 3 times in a row we will make you bleed until you are unable to wear them for at least a week.
- Flip-flops and slippers – Basically made of foam and fabric, but we will find a way to injure you. Probably via a fibre infection in an existing wound.
- Bare feet – Sheer unadulterated joy!
One day I will go to the Ball – probably in bare feet! FML!