You hate this photo: you say it's your least-flattering angle. When you look at it you count your chins. The unforgiving flash etches the deepening lines of your eyes and your mouth.
But I want to know what the hell are you wearing? It was the 70's, you say.
Such an awkward angle: your chin elongated, your nostrils humongous, your expression distracted by a frown for the camera. The lens cover, it turned out, was off. The slight pressure of your finger captured your question forever.
You snatch the photo from me. I hate this photo, you say, but you jam it back into the album, where it joins the thumb shots and camera straps, more nostrils and the inside of someone's purse.
We are laughing. It is funny, but these are the photos we keep. Not the monuments and landscapes, but the comedy. The jokes.
| There's an alarming number of these in our family albums. |