12 July 2011

The Shoot

So, my sister got married back in November of 2009. It was a beautiful affair, with well-chosen bridesmaids' dresses, a sentimental location, and lots of dancing and laughing. And okay...so some of the laughing was AT the dancing, but we're all good sports like that. Before all of the ceremonial splendor played out, however, there were the bridal portraits.

When I had my bridal portraits made, it was just me, Mama, the photographer, and my sister, who spent her time taking pictures of me from right behind the photographer.

That's legal, right?

For my sister's turn, there was a lot more traffic. There were all the usual suspects: my mother, the photographer, me, and a can of hairspray. But instead of snapping the incognito photos myself, my mom's friend came along to fill that job. Lucky for her: she got to witness The Crazy up close and personal!

My sister actually invited me to PARTICIPATE in her photo shoot. Can you believe it?

"Hey...come stand next to me and mar the glossy finish."

In addition to the extra shooter, my dad came along. The photographer was actually glad to have him...if not a little surprised...there was a lot of equipment to hunk around the grounds of the garden where she had her pictures made. Dads aren't usually a fixture at such fluffery. My dad especially: just picture the cowboy hat and boots tromping through the posies.

Oh! And the hairdresser. Hair-doer? Beauty shop lady. Hair whipper-upper. She came, too. That's how we roll. A can of hairspray is not enough...we're gonna need the salon owner to come, too. Thanks.

We brought her specifically so she could fish out all the bobby pins and wash our hair at the end.

I'm kidding! She wanted to tag along...she was probably hoping for a little Barbara Mandrel karaoke on the ride down....

Please don't mind my hillbilly self. Looks like I could have used a little assistance from the beautician. Where are they when you need 'em?

But the sister looks...man, like a bride! Beautimous.

She had quite the posse with her, and everything turned out really great.

At least, until I fell back into my usual graces and went and broke something.

Why does that happen? The falling. the tripping. The breaking of stuff. The overall klutziness. B can't wait for the baby to start walking, so he can stop sweating over whether or not I'm going to drop her.

And here's where I confess that I have fallen while holding her...and he had a front row seat! I sure bet he was glad. Everything turned out fine, though, so not to worry. I tripped in a hole in the ground, and down we went. I caught myself on my knees, though, and the girl? She laughed. Great. They're both going to forever be standing back, watching me Three Stooge my way through life, laughing. I'm so happy they can bond like that.

Of course, I then had to spend the next precious fifteen minutes of our lives showing him the hole I tripped in, to prove that it wasn't just me, (I'm not sure he saw it.) and asking him, "Do you think she's okay? Do you think I scared her?"

His response?

"She was grinning. I think she's fine."

I'm not convinced.

So back to my breaking of personal property.... I was just leaning there on the post after changing out of my gown (which I did in the TRUCK, by the way - thank goodness for gangsta-tinted windows), watching the show, and THUNK.

Newel post, rolling down the steps, Clark Griswold-style. And me lurching forward. Once again, luckily, I did not bite the proverbial dust. I just pitty-patted and floundered around a bit while everyone stared before I blurted out:

"Man! What happened here?!"

Like I had nothing to do with it.

A little gum and elbow grease later, and you couldn't even tell....

1 comment:

  1. I don't know if these things really work, but many people who wear them say they do...Power Balance bands. I wear one now and I can say that I have not fallen, and you know me and my past with falling. They are not the most fashionable of items, but I am going to get you one and mail it to you. Try it out and see if it keeps you upright more often.