Dear World,

The last time I liked having my picture taken, Olan Mills was still doing head-without-a-body shots. Don’t believe me?

{ And don’t pretend you don’t have one just like it hanging in your Mom’s hallway. }

But since my days as a child bobblehead, I politely decline all photo requests. And by politely, I mean if you attempt to take my picture, I’m gonna wrestle you to the floor, rub your face in the carpet, abscond with your camera, and leave you for dead. Don’t let the innocent face fool you.

Here’s the thing about photos:

1. No one ever asks your permission. Or they ask mid-snap, which doesn’t even give you time to wipe the Go to Hell/I Know Where You Parked look off your face.

2. There’s always that one person who likes to get shots of everyone around the dinner table. You know who you are. You lie in wait, somehow finishing your tacos al carbon before the rest of us. Then you jump up and start snapping. News flash: no one likes to see a 4×6 of themselves, mouth open, shoveling in a taco. No one.

3. The amateur photographer will inevitably immortalize you looking like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, double chin, fat rolls and all. The only thing they won’t capture is the thunderous sound of your footsteps as you walk through the streets.

Or a professional photographer will take a picture of you in a Sumo costume at a Halloween dance. The one time you were trying to look fat. Only she’ll crop you from the waist up, just missing the Sumo undies and making you look like an enormous topless woman standing inappropriately close to three teenagers. And you’ll want to scream “But I’m not a streaking fatty with bad hair!” Only, too late…it went in the newspaper and every Kate Spade-toting socialite in Pasadena saw it.

4. And spare me the “Love Yourself Just The Way You Are” speech. Blech. Since when does “I don’t want to have my photo taken” translate to “I hate myself and I’m just waiting for death to take me?” And PS…the very person who tells you to “love yourself just the way you are” will be the first person to crinkle up her nose and say “you didn’t send that photo to EHarmony, did you?” 

And PS…hell yes, I did. This very picture. Cheesy souvenir sweatshirt and all. Along with the photos of me:

• Pretending to fall off a cliff
• Lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs on Lombard Street
• And even the obligatory “Look, I’m in the clink” Alcatraz shot

PSS…I just said “hell” twice in one blog post. And threatened violence. Sorry, Mom.