I have to tell you that I am apparently the kind of person who gets drunk and raves about how much she loves and does not deserve her back yard. I don’t know when I became that kind of drunk. I had no idea it was a kind of drunk, but there you are. All night, though, I had a dream that our house was flooding and I had to get my mom to safety but she refused to believe it was as bad as it was.
Anyway, Mary and Samantha came over and hung in the hammocks and we talked and then, once I was tipsy enough to not feel self-conscious, I asked them to help me get a good headshot to use with the book
After a series of experiments against different backdrops in the house, Mary took this photo without quite realizing how it would turn out.
Obviously, it accidentally looked really, really cool, like I was haunting the mirror in my dining room. We then spent the next little bit trying to replicate the photo, but with less glare and less dorky smile on my part. Both were very difficult. One, because I squint my eyes when I smile.
But two because the mirror is, you know, a hundred years old, at least, and it was hand-painted and all the silver brushstrokes are now showing through on the surface. It’s hard not to get some glare.
But then, after they made me fluff my hair, we got this. I think it’s the one. At the least, at least my boobs showed up for duty.