My kindly contact at the Salisbury Post dropped me a line to inform that she needed a different picture to go with my articles. It seems the one they’re currently using goes pixelated upon print. For those of us who remember the good ol’ days before pixels that’s hipster talk for a bunch of little squares. She likened my image to a “perp on cops.” I looked at my very cropped headshot and sighed. As usual, she was correct. Though I helpfully suggested she use a picture of another writer since she is much more attractive, she responded as if I were joking.

So I set about finding a suitable image to send to my friend for print. The problem is that I’m not into selfies. In fact I do everything I can to stay out of the way of a camera. As family photos will attest, that’s me there behind my husband, peeking through his armpit. I figure if you can see my eyeballs I’m officially part of the obligatory group lineup.

I found one that’s not too terrible… if you can get past the death stare I was giving my beloved. Apparently my disdain for being photographed had bled over to include my favorite family member who happened to be wielding the camera.

Another picture was not quite as menacing. But the roses which climbed the trellis behind my head formed a funky garland that appeared as horns when printed. Hmmm… the old belief that taking one’s picture steals the soul may indeed be correct. Or perhaps more accurately it reveals the soul.

Still looking for something less psychotic I found one of me with our three beautiful daughters. But the grown child next to me has long dark silky hair like her father. A large strand of it fell across my shoulder as apparently I was leaning in close in an effort to hide. I cropped my lovely head from the group and was disappointed to see that her hair looked like a snake crawling over my shoulder; probably another indication of my sin sick soul.

A short while later I found one where I’m sandwiched between my younger twin sisters on a red sofa. The two of them look like skinny bookends so of course I cropped them out. It was a little disconcerting to see the leftovers. I had to wonder where all those chins came from. Apparently in an effort to hide the discomfort of being photographed with my pretty young siblings I scrunched my head downward rolling up all the extra neck skin.

Suddenly the wisdom of Barbara Bush made sense when she revealed that she always wore a three strand pearl necklace to hide the wrinkles.

The last available option was my senior picture from high school. Unfortunately if the shag haircut didn’t give away the date of the photo surely the purple tie-dyed top would.

So here’s what we’re going to do. Until I can get a selfie stick… a very, very long selfie stick, we’re going to use our imaginations. Forget about the pixelated perp, the snake and my sin sick soul. Wipe the image of multiple chins from your thinking. Instead picture someone lovely like perhaps… Nicole Kidman for example.

That’s exactly what I look like… except with horns… and a three strand pearl necklace.

 

Lynna Clark lives and writes in Salisbury.