This is my current Facebook profile picture:
I finally uploaded it a few days ago after having had the same profile picture for almost one year.
Why did I have the same picture for so long?
Because it was a good picture.
And let’s face it, a Facebook picture is worth a thousand words.
It tells your current friends that you’re doing well.
“Look at me,” it says, “my lifelong battle with ecsema and dry skin hasn’t spread to my face.”
It tells your old high school rivals, who for some reason have “friended” you despite the fact that they scribbled the word ‘BITCH’ on your locker when you were 15, “Sorry to disappoint you, but my unruly frizzy hair is better than ever because NOW I can afford expensive hair products. Bitch!”
It tells your relatives, “We have awesome genes!”
It tells the relatives you don’t like, “My side of the family has awesome genes.”
It tells your old boyfriends, “You could have been tapping this ass.”
However, that having been said, it’s no small feat creating a profile picture capable of conveying so many messages.
It can take hours, sometimes days of preparation.
The picture displayed above took approximately 45 minutes to capture, and that’s not counting prep time for wardrobe, hair, and makeup.
I came down stairs after
fucking with my hair for over an hour combing my long flowing locks, and gave the camera to my seven year old because he doesn’t know to flee in terror yet.
I don’t even ask my husband to do the honours anymore because his eyerolls and sighs only make me want to jam the camera up his ass.
“Terran,” I said, “take a picture of me, ok?”
“Sure,” he said.
What the hell am I wearing?
Looks like I should be wearing this jacket over a pair of fuzzy pyjama bottoms and slippers with bunny heads.
Super good one, except my head is cut off.
…at this point, my husband, Wayne, walked by, and said, “I thought we were going for supper?”
“We are,” I said.
“Are you posing for a Facebook picture?”
“I guess this means I have time to change the breaks on your van.”
“Give me the camera,” she says to her little brother. “I’m starving!”
…well, the photographer got distracted, and found a new subject.
What am I doing?
Why is my head at that angle?
Am I being exorcised?
Is my head going to spin 360 degrees?
Not only is this super cheesy, but I look flat as a board.
Where are my boobs?
I want big tits!
So at this point I explained to my daughter that I was going to go put on my padded bra, to which every member of the household exclaimed in unison, “Let’s go!”