Click

Photography, when it first made an appearance, was rejected as the Devil’s Work, because a photo clicked of you was supposed to steal your soul.

Times have changed, haven’t they? Photographs are clicked everywhere – roadsides, beaches, workstations – even at ATMs and airports – and right here, while I sit and clack away – my webcam keeps clicking.
And anyway – who’s even got a soul left to steal still?

Makes me think about the way I’ve been posing for pix. Over the years. I see black n whites carefully preserved in moth-eaten frames of me as a toddler, peering under the table at the wedding reception. Who cares about looking at the camera, when the half-eaten cake underneath is way more inviting!

Next, the convent school stage – neatly ironed girls in rows. ‘Knees together!’  All of us outdoing each other in solemn frowns.

Teen pix swing the other way. Way Way – the other way. Wild clothes, wild parties, hairstyles that belong to the Ripley’s Believe it or Not – and enough embarrassments for the rest of my life.

Somewhere, along the line, I learn to smile for the camera. Demure or seemingly delighted – that there was going to be an image of me captured on some server somewhere in the world.  The minute the ‘Look here’ was sounded, my lips would bare, teeth would stretch, head would tilt.

Click would go the camera, flash would go the flash. And here comes my pic. One eye shut. Click again. Head half cut off. Click once more please. Teeth look like jaguar’s. once more. Oops, cleavage showing. Re-click. Red eyes. Click again please.

No one’s got that one perfect pic of themselves. The truth: We all think we look much better than those photographs of ours do.  I know I do. I mean, is one side of my nose really fatter than the other? C’mon, click again. Please. Just once more!