Picture Day

"Picture Day? Already?!" It was the third day of school, and I was caught unaware. Totally. Completely. Off guard.

"Don't they, like, wait to see if kids are gonna drop out first? I can't believe this!" (You'll be surprised to know that my speaking voice is both informal and shrill. I whine a lot. No one likes to hear me talk.)

You're probably wondering what the big deal was. You may say, "Hey, Adrienne? What's the big deal? It's just Picture Day," and then you'll shrug like I'm the crazy one here and your friends will laugh at me. And that's fine. But this is the Big Deal: I hate Picture Day.

When I was a kid (wow, I'm really old), Picture Day went a little something like this:

• Wake up late.
• Remind Mom that it's Picture Day.
• Fake sick so you can go back to bed.
• No dice.
• Watch Mom freak out while you pretend to sleep.
• End up wearing something you hate.
• Cry.
• Beg.
• Get sick for real this time, but have no chance to stay home because you've already cried wolf this morning.
• Be angry for wasting a legitimate illness on a day you already faked Mom out.
• Get driven to school as you sulk in the backseat.
• Cry some more.
• Walk into class late, crying, in an outfit you hate.
• Be first in line for pictures.
• Blink when the flash goes off.
• Spend the rest of the day trying to pretend you aren't wearing your least favorite outfit OF ALL TIME.
• Wait three weeks.
• Hide the tear-stained-cheek, blinking, hair-a-mess, bad-outfit pictures in the bottom of your backpack.
• Try to hold out until after the order date before showing Mom.
• Lose the game.
• Watch as your parents buy as many pictures as they can afford without skipping a utility, then hand them out to everyone they see, even strangers, strangers' friends, and strangers' friends' kids. Also, people's pets.
  

Of course, now it's a little different and she did fine. I even got to choose the background color and give instructions to the photographer, which mainly consisted of short, abrupt sentences like, "Don't make her cry. Don't let her blink. Wipe her nose, for Pete's sake! Do a good job. Eat your veggies." We'll see how well s/he follows directions, assuming The Girl doesn't try to hide the proofs from me.