Photo Processing

B and I struggle to take an acceptable family photo. She believes she is unphotogenic. Puh-lease. I am unphotogenic. Pictures make me look like a gorilla, only with zits. We take 2,044 pictures whenever we go anywhere. We stopped asking people to take pictures of us long ago. It's no use. None of them take enough, and then we just trash them all. So, we take selfies, and we argue about them.

"Oh," B will say, "I found one I don't completely abhor!"

"Um, buddy," I will say to her (we call each other 'buddy' sometimes, ironically), "I have something in my teeth in that one."

Then she will say, "okay, but it's better than the one you like, where I look like I have only two teeth in my entire head!"

At this point I sigh dramatically, planning how to one-up her.

"Oh, yeah?" I will say. "Well, it looks like I have a head the size of Jupiter in that other one."

"It looks like I have blood gushing from my eyeballs in the one you took the other day."

"So? That's nothing! I look like I have enormous tumors all over my midriff in the one you took at the park!"

And so on. Ari, however, always looks fantastic.