wait, who let september happen?

Yesterday, I kited myself off to the suburbs for a photography outing. The set-up was simple: a friend needed guinea pigs for his portraiture assignment, and a whole slew of dirt-poor and socially terrified authors could do with having an up to date publicity mugshot if the offer was on the table.

As I was getting ready, the pterosaur decided to try and prepare me for the process by pulling out his own camera and bombarding me with photos, paparazzi-style. Mostly, I pulled faces at him, talked all through his efforts (which always results in photos of me wearing the most bizarre expressions), and generally acted like a muppet.

Here, for example, I am channelling my inner marabou. I don't think I'm particularly successful because I've seen a marabou exactly once, and at no point did said marabou look in any way bemused.

Unfortunately for all concerned, this panic-induced mania did not change when I actually reached the proper shoot, I must say. Which I suppose will have given the poor photographer excellent training in dealing with difficult subjects, but at the same time, there's now a very real chance there will be photos of me looking like some sort of science exhibit (Sept 2012: Crazy Lady, Looking Terrified) going into someone's portraiture assignment. I've decided to consider this a win for diversity.

And hey, after all that malarking about, I was fed a hearteningly strong cup of tea and the most delicious twitter cookies.

Tweet! Tweet! The cookies: on Twitpic

4 thoughts on “wait, who let september happen?

  1. Remember when Macrae did that photo shoot for me? It felt like have my skin sandpapered off. My sympathies, and you don't do a bad Marabou.

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