On Becoming My Mother

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Let me preface this by saying my mother is one of those people who is blessed to be just as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside.  (Right now she’s thinking I’m making a jibe at her inner character.  Stop it, and I promise Mom, the following is nothing you don’t already know.  And you should know the former too.)

But Pamela Jeannine Thomas hates pictures.  It’s like her eyelids are programmed to close after hearing this, “One, two…” Blink!  Eyes shut.  Picture taken. 

Never ask her to be your photographer, either.  She also can’t snap photos without turning “One, two, three” into a ten-minute ordeal.  Maybe it’s because her eyes keep closing after “two” and she keeps having to start over.  I don’t know.

Listen, I want to be more like my mom in most ways I can think of.  Except this.  Please look at this wedding favor from Derek and Kim’s reception this weekend.

How is it possible to even make the ‘crazy’ pictures look like you’re doing it wrong?  How is it possible to look like you’ve hit the cash bar, uh, hard, without even having had a glass of wine?  Or even a glass of water?

Thanks, Mom.  I’m going to go ahead and blame this on you.

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