The other day, I was having some fun running some photos of myself through a Photoshop-esque type picture editor, you know, diminishing the age spots and such and adding a little virtual mascara. Attempting to ignore the ravages of the ageing process for a few whimsical moments. But, when all was said and done, my kids pointed out that the new, air-brushed versions of mommy weren’t true to form and that in the interest of total candor, I should show the “Before” pictures.
So, my younger son, who happens to be dangerous with an iPad in hand, took it upon himself to help me ‘get real’.
I started to worry—just a tad—when he rolled backwards on the bed and fell into a gasping fit that would have had me dialing 911 if it weren’t for his snorts and guttural shrieks of laughter as he served as my professional photographer. Have I mentioned that I hate him?
Anyway, here, I give you the artist: He’s eight.
Before his Cheerios:
Amazing, that airbrush, huh?
And now, there is me… Before my coffee:
After a big cup of coffee and a bit of photo magic:
Which one is the real me? Depends on who you ask and what mood I’m in. Anyway, to all this digital photo nonsense I say, “Pppfffffftttttt!” Give me a Polaroid Instamatic any day. Waiting for the picture to appear? Now THAT was some good times.