So what I did can’t be called an outfit post, I know that. I have a jaunty hat but no style, those things do not pave the way for an outfit post. But they did allow my husband and I to enter a new stage of our married existence together: the photography stage. You don’t REALLY know someone until you’ve asked them to take photos of you poncing about your garden. And they don’t really know you until they’ve witnessed your most uncomfortably cringeworthy attempts at photographing yourself poncing about your garden. Who knew that free jeans (sorry, not free, nothing is free, value your time and creativity, vive la revolution, yadda yadda) could reveal so very much?
Me (in my best whiny brat voice): I caaaaaaaaant dooooo ittttttt.
Him: Yeah……Yeah you really can’t can you?
Me: What was I thinking? What’s wrong with my face? I don’t need (these incredibly stretchy glorious) jeans that badly.
Me (in my best whiny brat voice): Whatcha doing?
Him, doing *insert typical Sunday job here, maybe changing a plug socket?*: This.
Me: Oh. How long will you be?
Him: Why? And why are you hovering? What’s wrong with you?
Me: Seriously I caaaaaaaaant dooooo ittttttt.
Him: Oh, that’s why you’re hovering.
LOSE THE JACKET!
WHY ARE YOU PULLING THAT FACE?
LOOK OVER THE WALL!
NO!!! DON’T LOOK AT ME FOOL.
MICHELLE, THAT IS NOT YOUR FACE.
Me: Alright Austin Powers, calm down.
Him, flicking through the camera: Some of these are pretty good >Stumbles across my-self timer early attempts< WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE??? YOU LOOK LIKE A CRIMINAL. Why are you standing like that? Why are you doing that? REALLY, WHAT IS THAT FACE?
Me: I…just….I don’t…..SHUT UP.
This, coupled with the aforementioned style void, is why you don’t see many pictures of me on the blog. More dogs, that’s what I say.
Who takes your photos? Want to borrow my husband?
*I’ve done three posts in three days in November, yay me. Sorry #BEDNners, none of them have been the suggested topics. But there are three and that my friends, is a win.*