I’m having a personal crisis at the moment. Last week, I spotted a picture of a friend that had been tagged on Facebook, and I have spent the intervening days wrestling with teenage angst and multiple foil wrappers of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut. This is the picture that set me off.
This is where I get the double whammy. I am not photogenic. Not even vaguely. Anyone who has seen the friends episode where Monica and Chandler try to have a holiday portrait taken will know what I am talking about. My subconscious has an uncanny ability to detect a camera lens anywhere in the vicinity, and instantly tell my face to assume ‘poisoned rictus’ expression. So not only is my ability to gaze wistfully to the horizon severely compromised, but my body follows suit, and I end up looking like a Halloween corpse that’s been assembled incorrectly.
However, it’s not just the photogenic bit that is the problem. I am also not one of those people who yearn for their youthful good looks. I might miss being able to bend freely to pick something off the floor without requiring a commercial break and to a grab rail to get back upright, but that’s about it. I have spent considerable time and effort to achieve an appearance that no longer scares horses and makes small children cry, and I have no desire to go back to those days. At 16, I headed off to Sweden for a Girl Guide International camp, only to be surrounded by blonde, tanned Scandinavian babes. For camp fire entertainment, they donned gleaming purple spandex bodysuits and did a disco number; we had ankle socks and a neckerchief. And then, to complete our abject humiliation, they took our picture and put it in the national press. I kid you not. So, for your continuing amusement, I am in the picture below. To find out just where, you’ll have to click on this link.. And you wonder why I’m warped..