Birdy's Bird

It has long been a well-known fact that my husband hates to have his picture taken. HATES IT.

I paid through the nose to have Jill Sanders come out here several years ago to do family portraits. The kids and I were fine with it. Birdy threw a huge fit.

"I hate to have my picture taken. My Aunt Peggy used to herd us all together when we were kids and shove a camera in our faces. I hate to have my picture taken."

Really? Well, sugar plum, suck it up because not only are you going to have your picture made by Jill with us, you're going to LIKE it, too.

That was five years ago. We're long overdue, to say the least. I'm hoping that the Chris & Kris Team will be able to rectify that problem later this summer. Which means I have until later this summer to lose the extra ass I'm carting around. And just to be sure I'm minus the extra ass I'm carting around, I've already started The Diet.

Although I'm pretty sure I can afford to live off the fat of the land for quite some time, as I type, my stomach is growling.

That said, I have finally, after 9 years together, I figured out how to get my husband to stand still for a photograph.

Birdy arrived home from his Big Turkey Hunt this morning and as usual, insisted I bring my camera outside and make his picture with his kill.

Little does he know I've signed myself up for yet another photography class and I have an assignment to complete: Portrait from the waist up.

Great, now which individual is this house is going to want their portrait made from the waist up? None of them. I'm sure of it.

I instruct him on where to sit, what I want in the background, and what I'm doing with my camera:

"I'm in this photography class and she showed me something ELSE I don't know about this camera. I bracket my F-Stops automatically. So, I'm going to bracket my F-Stops and it's going to give me a different exposure each time I take the picture. I will take three pictures in a row. So, please be patient."

"Okay." He's all about this.

So, I pose Birdy with his kill. He's happy. He's content.

Then, it hits me...why can't I use BIRDY as my subject?

"Alright, I have an assignment," I explain. "I need my subject from the waist up. Pick that there bird up and throw him over your shoulder. I'll do the moving, just stand there and look remotely happy."

I start to click away.

"Smile."

"I am smiling."

No, that's a grimace, Birdy. But, whatever, I can see your teeth.

After about ten minutes he starts to complain. But that doesn't matter. My homework is done.

So, later this summer (perhaps in the fall if The Diet is any indication) I can get my husband to sit still for family portraits if I let him hold something dead. He may sit still most of the afternoon. At least until his critter starts to smell...

Personally, I think the shirt makes the photograph, don't you agree?

Grunt. "Me Og. Me bring home dinner." Grunt.

That's my man. Ain't nobody 'rasslin' me for that...