WHAT’S PLAYING: Bruno Mars “Liquor Store Blues”
Lately, it’s gotten worse. Now that everyone has a camera/video phone, I’ve gone from antisocial to downright paranoid. I don’t like parties, but on the rare occasions I attend one, I’m jumpier than a bunny rabbit on speed. I’m a basket case, keeping constant watch for a cell phone pointed in my direction, twisting and turning in ways that would make a contortionist proud, all to avoid having my picture snapped.
Why I hate being in photos is a mystery. Even to me. Whenever I decline to participate in group photographs, my friends sigh in exasperation and point out that I used to be a model. True. But I hated it even then. In fact, the only reason I got into modeling was so that someone not related to me would tell me I was pretty.
Earlier this week, I got some bad news from my Social Media 101 teacher. Apparently, people relate best to people they can see, which meant I needed a photo for my blog, website and social media profiles.
I calmly explained to my teacher that I don’t like having my photo taken. I’d rather people concentrate on my words rather than my face.
He didn’t budge.
I tried a different tack. My hair looks weird on film. I have acne and braces and I don’t even wear makeup.
As I got more desperate, so did my excuses. My eyes are sensitive to light. Cameras give me hives! Scurvy! Rickets!
His reply? Get over it.
So, that’s how I wound up spending five hours changing clothes, rearranging my hair, posing, and later, combing through photographs until I found one that wasn’t too bad, but still looked like me.
(You can check out the full size one on the About Page.)
I have to admit that — while it sucked — it wasn’t the torturous, crawl-over-broken-glass-while-gargling-sulfuric-acid, experience I thought it would be.
But if I come down with rickets, my teacher is in serious trouble.