The camera is a lie

This morning, for absolutely no good reason, I took it into my head to attempt taking my own picture.

Again.

It ended about as I expected it to: I laughed so hard it felt as though someone spent the night pummeling me in the gut, and I deleted the distorted, oddly-angled evidence of my stab at vanity almost instantly.

Nothing brings the sexy like a person wearing bifocals attempting to figure out where the shutter-button is on a slick surface facing away from them. If there were a common theme to the four or five shots I actually managed to find the button for, it would would be Squinting Elder Monkey Is Surprised By Flash She Thought Was Off Oh Wait Did I Turn It On Against By Mistake While Fumbling For The Shutter Button, I Totally Did, Didn’t I?

I suppose if I actually gave a damn, I’d figure this out. After all, I am a person who can take two sticks and a bunch of string and make clothing, for Pete’s sake. Furthermore, my daily bread is earned by making computers do stuff. I know how to get a button on a website to do something when you click on it. I even know how to get cursors to do stuff just because you moused-over something. I can make the database find that one row, among MILLIONS OF ROWS, that YOU need right-now, in less than a second.

I’m pretty sure, if I cared enough, I could figure out how to take a picture of myself where I did not look drunk and/or misshapen and/or confused and/or dear Gah, what IS that neck muscle doing?! That…IS just a neck muscle, right…?

Or old. Older. Because OK, fine, I am never going to look 20-something again. Not without major Photoshop intervention.

But I’m only forty-something. Not, you know, sixty or six hundred something. Which is how I look whenever I have one of these little fits where I think, YA KNOW, you really ought to consider updating that profile picture, taken back in 1980-something…

And then I take anywhere from two to ten ‘selfies,’ laugh hysterically until I’m gasping and nearly crying because ohmygah, RIIIIIIIIOT!!!

Then I mutter to myself about ya KNOW how cameras are with you, if you wanna look not-undead, you’re gonna need to put on some makeup or something…

And then I shove the camera into a drawer because ugh, makeup? what next, UNSTAINED CLOTHES? This thing is getting WAY out of control here, WAY too much WORK going on with this thing…

And then I get distracted by something shiny.

Like a new BBQ.