A couple of weeks ago I had the idea that a family portrait would be the perfect gift for Scott’s parent’s forty-fifth anniversary. Scott contacted a photographer in Dallastown, got the lowdown on what what we should wear, called his siblings, and made an appointment for last Saturday.
On cue, my face started breaking out. And then there was my mission for the perfect shirt. I had the option of wearing a black sweater already in my closet, but I didn’t want to look too morbid, or be off-season from everyone else in the picture. So I went on a shirt mission: casual, not white, not pastel, no patterns, not too wintery, not too summery, not too bleak. Nothing ribbed (makes me look too busty), nothing too low-cut. I went to Loehmann’s, Macys, Nordstrom Rack, two consignment shops, Sears, TJ Maxx, Marshalls, two different Filene’s Basements, Marshalls, Nine & Co… nothing. Thanks to the aforementioned bustiness and today’s styles, everything made me look pregnant, or look like a stripper, or at the very worst like a pregnant stripper. After three days in and out of stores, I gave up, and resigned myself to being morbid and wintery. Fortunately for me, everyone else was wearing navy or black, and with me in the back row, my shirt choice didn’t ruin the aesthetic.
We brought the dogs with us for our own photo shoot after the family portrait. Max threw up on the backdrop. Otherwise, they were well behaved. In fact, we got some great shots, like this one, which the photographer is putting in his window:
Yes, we’re famous. Starting in a couple of weeks, anyone driving up and down Main Street in Dallastown will see us and our dogs in vibrant living color.
But more importantly, Scott’s parents are happy, and the whole family portrait is going to look great. It was absolutely worth the shirt angst and dog barf, not to mention lecture from the photographer on the benefits of lithium and why we should get married.
