I’ve got an issue with cameras.
We don’t get along all that well.
I’d just as soon run a few miles, carrying a couple of pounds of bricks on my back on a sizzling hot day in the middle of the desert, as smile pretty for the camera.
I don’t like you Mr. Camera…not at all.
But about a year ago I started to notice how slim were the pickings when it came to pictures of me and my son together.
Sure I have tons of him, easily a few hours of slide show worth. If you don’t believe me, ask my son. He has sat through said slide show more than once. He’s so vain. LOL. But that’s a post for Diary of a HOT Mama.
The thing is that my son is an only child. And if something should happen to me, I at least want him to have a few pictures of us to cherish.
So I made the conscious decision to take more pictures with him as well as on the solo tip.
Who knew it wasn’t that simple?? I sure didn’t!
What I’ve come to find out in the year that has passed since my noble attempt at capturing our love for perpetuum. Is that I simply dread taking pictures.
In fact I hate it. Just the sight of someone with a camera aimed in my direction, makes me nervous.
It’s not that I don’t take nice pictures; at least that’s what I’m told.
Sometimes I beg to differ but it’s not unusual for one to be a little tougher on themselves.
But the aversion is so strong I have started to wonder, what the issue really is.
To add to the problem I can’t figure out where this all began but I know it’s been with me since childhood.
Perhaps some crazed relative wielding a camera scarred me for life.
Or maybe it was those school track pictures when I was trying to grow out my perm – (Note to self, never try that during 100+ California heat wave).
But whatever the root cause, it’s something that I now as an adult have to tackle.
So the next time someone points a camera at me,
I will smile pretty and try not to throw up on their shoes.