Please lie to me, I often say to my compact. Sometimes I go to powder my nose and that’s all I see. When did it inflate into a life raft?
What inspired this suicidal post were my passport photos, all 6 sets of them. Yes, I did have them retaken just a few times. I found this great place on YELP cheap cheap cheap. Of course I blamed my Jimmy Durante on them and their low prices.
Like Camille said, “You get what you pay for honey, I always tell you that.”
“Are you saying I should have gone to Annie Liebowitz instead of Copy Cat on first and 83rd?”
I’m not even planning a trip so why am I putting myself through such facial torture. I could have had my make-up professionally done I suppose, and my hair blown out…better than my brains after seeing multiple shots of my wrinkles.
“Did he adjust the lighting?” Camille wanted to know.
“Camille, the place was the size of a shoebox owned by a guy named Haim…it wasn’t exactly MGM.”
“You know so many photographers, why would you go there?”
“Because it’s a passport picture, not a Vogue editorial, besides…I’m really not all that upset.”
“Is that why you just asked for rum in your orange juice?”
“Isn’t this brunch?”
“Not at 8 a.m. it’s not.”
Alright I’ll admit it…I’M FUCKING VAIN.
Part of the problem was, Haim refused to let me give him my best side. He kept saying, “Meez, you moost ton all za vay too me…alf a face…noo good.”
“Whole face, noo good either.”
I always turn three quarters, if I don’t my face looks like one of the planets…big and round, with an array of parallel lines. Instead of blush, I could use a protractor.
So 6 sets of pictures later, how much is 8.95 times 6 anyway….see it pays to find a cheap place so when you take that many, it won’t cost you your shirt.
I just got the great name of a joint in Chinatown. They charge only 7 bucks…don’t tell Camille. She’s still hoping I’ll call Annie.