Today was the worst day of my life.
Why you ask? Picture day. Ugh, the dreaded school picture day. I was desperately trying to avoid a repeat incident of last year’s fiasco (you do remember the incident with the barbed wire, blizzard, and fish, don’t you? In case not, refer back to entry #577. I think it was a Tuesday.) I was ready this time though- had my fur brushed, whiskers straightened, nose shined, big breakfast. Go time.
It wasn’t my fault. It was that stupid photographer and his dramatic backdrops with kitsch, photoshopped predators up in the gym. As I prepared for my photo, smoothing my pelt, twirling my whiskers, he made some small talk. Which is fine. He says: he’s doing photography to make some extra cash, he found some excellent candy- unwrapped even!- in a dumpster two blocks from here, he wants to be a dentist some day, blah blah blah. As he’s adjusting the camera lens, he remarks,
“Wow, speaking of teeth, you’ve certainly got some tame looking molars there, eh friend?”
Oh yeah? Tame-looking molars?! Screw him! I pulled out my most impressive snarl into a blinding flash of light. Snap! There’s a keeper right there, I thought to myself smugly. Gracing the covers of “Sassy Ferrets Weekly” no doubt! I got back the prints later that day, and to my dismay- my wildly ferocious days were quickly overshadowed by my self-conscious, pick-apart-every-flaw phase. How could I have known that I’d forgotten to take care of some oral hygiene that morning? (Though those minor details are very easily overlooked after a good meal.)
A preview: my picture in the yearbook is going to have some quality close-ups of my blood-caked teeth. The teeth almost more red than white, which makes me furious because I’ve been whitening them for weeks. My back is in a funny arch, and you can’t even see my eyes. My friends laughed all during scavenging time. Oh god, I hope Hob never sees it. But if he doesn't see my picture, does it mean he wasn't even looking for it in the first place? I can't move, I'm so embarassed.
I’m probably just going to cry myself to sleep now. And when the yearbook comes out, burn all the pictures that include me.
Or just not move from this place until... the end of time. Yes, I think a dramatic declaration like that accurately reflects how shitty I feel. Frozen until the end of time. It'll be like the Titanic, only self-imposed misery of the eternal sort, only without ice. And with more ferrets.
Still- I hope that, in the future, I sometimes reread this entry so I remember to do things like brush my teeth or not be provoked by dentistry-aspiring photographers. Good night,
Created: Jul 27, 2012withyourcrookedheart Document Media