Hunnee (my pet name for my husband of 2 1/2 years) and I had our annual portraits made. Last year we wore white and this year we wore black. I actually found a dress I could wear!
He never really wants to take pictures but he knows how important they are to me. Once we get to the portrait studios we have such fun. The photographers get a kick out of us clowning around. Like: "Let's take a picture of me having her in a choke hold." "Get a shot of me slapping him silly!"
"What are you doing, your own version of Dorian Gray to show how I get more wrinkled up every year and you stay young? Do I have to go through this?" he whined when I originally suggested it. Hunnee is blonde with blue eyes and was a life guard in the Miami sun as a youngster so he has more wrinkles than I. I have oily caramel colored African American skin. That and my mother's genes sometimes makes people think there is a greater age difference than just six years.
"Yep, you got me," I said. "That's my whole purpose in life--making you go through things."
While I waited for the mechanic to call about my car, he went to the luncheon at the church for the Bible college seminar. One could call it another cool way to make sure he was dressed. My husband likes to dress nice and cares about clothes more than I do. He will plan an outfit days in advance while I will decide maybe the night before or the day of.
When we arrived at the studio he dropped out front while he went to park. Since we were walk-ins this time, he suggested I go on up fill out the forms and get us a place saved in line.
There was a nice girl in there who is shorter than I am! Imagine that! She said there was no line just then, only people picking up their photos. She gave me the forms to fill out and said I should call her when my husband arrived from parking the car. I thought. I certainly better 'cause she won't be able to tell he's my husband by looks!
A lady came in with two little girls to pick up her photos. One of the girls was about three or four years old while the other was about a year old to a year-and-a-half. The babies walked in to the play table. The older one had a charming mother hen attitude towards her baby sister.
"Oh, look what we have here, Susie! look at this! Don't you want to play with this? Come on! Let's sit down and play!" said big sister, obviously taking care of the baby while mom handled business at the front desk.
By the time Hunnee walked in the children were running in circles in the waiting area. He stopped to let them skitter past him, then walked over to me.
The mama looked up from her pictures for a second: "Allie! Girls! Stop running in here! Be still!"
"Okay, Mama!" the older one said as she attempted to corral the toddler.
The baby ran past Hunnee to get to the play table and said, "Gubboo bah!" to Hunnee.
"Aw! Hello to you, too!" he said aloud with a big friendly smile on his face. Then in a voice meant for only me to hear he said: "Now sit your little gubboo bah butt down and stop running through here, you little funny-looking--"
"Hunnee!" I interrupted. "Stop that!"
Then he started laughing which made me laugh.
I told him the girl at the desk wanted me to tell her when he came in but she was still busy with the mama who was perusing her proofs.
"I think you better tell her," he said. Then with that devilish smile: "I don't think she'll put the two of us together on her own.Heh, heh, heh."
Then he went to the mirror to check his hair. This is another one of his hobbies: his hair.
Photographers usually try to do and say things to make the subjects smile pretty for their pictures. But when we come along we usually crack up the photographer.
"Hey!" Hunnee said excitedly as he perused the props. "Can I take a picture with that football? I need a picture with a football."
"No!" I said. "You don't even play football." He's about five feet six inches tall and maybe a hundred thirty-five pounds with rocks in his pockets.
"But I like football."
"No football."
"She beats me on a regular basis," he said to the photographer. "I have scars to prove it."
"Somebody has to keep you in line," I said. "That's my job."
"Face each other. Closer, closer," said the photographer.
"There's just so close we can get with this big schnoze of a nose of mine between us," said Hunnee as he pulled on his nose.
"Aw, Hunnee, I like your nose," I said. "And it's not so big!"
The first picture was snapped.
"Hey! I wasn't ready!" Hunnee whined. "You need to warn a guy."
"Hunnee, she said, 'Smile.' That is a warning," I said.
"Not for me. I have to have more warning than that. Maybe you can say, WARNING! Like that."
Then the picture shows up on a little screen where we can see it.
"Aw! I don't like it!" he snarls. "I wasn't ready. Give me another chance--with a warning this time."
"Yes sir," the photographer replied, not sure if Hunnee's joking or not.
"Aw, now don't do that. Don't call me that!"
"Excuse me?" the photographer asked.
"Don't call me sir," said Hunnee. "I'm not an officer; I work for a living." He's probably used that line since he was in the Marines back in 1969.
Then the photographer got it. The Michael's are crazy. Laughing she said, "You guys are fun!"
"We live to serve," Said Hunnee. "And entertain."
"Never ending riot," I said.
"Warning! Smile!" said the photographer.
"Aw!"
"Hunnee, what's wrong now?" I asked.
"I had a fake smile. It's going to look fake. You can tell."
The photo popped up on the little screen that faced us.
"See? Fake looking smile," he said.
"Looks fine to me," I said. He gave me that You-always-think-I'm-cute-so -your vote-doesn't-count-and anyway-you're-bat-blind look.
"Looks fine to me, too," said the photographer. I gave him my see-there look
"Nah! I can tell it's fake. I need something to make me laugh. If I buy that picture I will always look at it and say, 'Yuck! That's a fake smile. I hate that picture'."
The photographer rearranged us. Hunnee stood behind me while I sat on a high stool. He put one hand on my shoulder.
"Oh, that's nice!" said the photographer.
Then Hunnee's other hand came up and around my neck. "Let's do a picture with this pose!"
"I don't think so," the photographer laughed.
"Yeah, only if I can have one of me slapping you," I said.
"See? I told you she beats me all the time!"
The next picture was snapped.
"Hey! You're pretty fast!" said Hunnee to the photographer. "I like that."
"Well, thanks!" said the photographer.
"Yeah, this picture-taking session is moving right along!"
"Better than last year?" I asked.
"Oh yeah! You know how I hate to wait."
"He means that," I said to the photographer. "So ADHD." I said in my best theatrically loud whisper.
"Yeah, I really am," he said. "Can you tell?"
"He almost walked out of a studio because they made us wait when we had an appointment," I said.
"Then we were behind that woman and a grandma with all those babies who couldn't make up her mind which pictures she wanted of her little ugly, bad-a** kids,"Hunnee snarled.
"Hunnee!"
"Well, Okay, they weren't bad kids. But they were ugly," he said as the photographer laughingly arranged us for another photo. "You got ugly kids, take a picture of one and get more xeroxed. Then it looks like you have pictures of all your ugly kids and you don't waste my time. Get out of my way. Hey! I like that picture! Tell me can you do something to help me out with the wrinkles. I really don't want to see all my wrinkles."
"Can you do something about the pictures to help hide my fat?" I asked.
"Let's take individual pictures now," said the photographer who was hinting we were about to make her have to visit the ladies' room. "Who's first?"
"She is!" Hunnee hurried. "I like her pictures better than mine."
As the photographer arranged me Hunnee took the opportunity to play with the props behind the camera. That was his plan all along: to play with the toys. He grabbed the football.
"It really would be cool to take a football picture--like this!" he said as he did a football yearbook pose--the kind that looks like they're about to chuck the ball across the field to somebody.
"Stop that!" I said through my teeth so I wouldn't loose my pose for the photographer. "A black suit with a football. Yeah. Very appropriate.. Put that down!"
"I could take a picture in my black suit with a football," he said striking another yearbook football pose.
"Dude. Forget the football."
"Yes ma'am."
"Ooo!" Said the photographer. "You called her 'ma'am'. Is it alright to call he ma'am if you don't like to be called 'sir'?"
"Oh, that's my thing not hers. You can call her whatever. I do." Then he started singing, "I can call you whatever I want! Call you whatever i want!"
"No, you don't call me whatever," I said.
"Yes I can. Sometimes you know it and sometimes you don't. I got sense not to be in arms reach. My turn?"
"Yes s--" the photographer started. "I mean yes, it's your turn for your individual pictures. Would you like to stand or sit?"
"Ah ha! You almost said 'sir'. And I think I'd like to stand."
When the photographer was done with the last pose, she sent us out to have a seat while she edited the pictures.
Hunnee whispered, "What's she got to edit? We took the pictures, we saw how they look in the little screen thing and--What's she doing? She's on the phone!"
"She's tweaking the photos a bit, Hunnee," I said. "Be patient."
Hunnee has no patience for folks who use a cell phone at what he considers inopportune times--like while driving, serving in a place of business or walking.
"Would you please come with me and we will take a look at your portraits," aid the photographer as she came out of the back and led us to a table on which was a computer monitor. "Now here are all your poses and in this section are the enhanced versions I made to a few of them."
Hunnee didn't sit. He looked at me and raised one suspicious eyebrow. "Hmm. So that's what that editing business was all about, eh?"
We saw some collages and Hunnee turned up his nose. With the ones of us together the photographer showed us how nice they were then she showed us the "enhanced" version. It had a little frosty mist around the edges.
"I don't know if we need all those --hey wait," Hunnee started as he took a closer look. "That frosty cloudy look does wonders for my wrinkles!"
"Well, sir--I mean Mr. M, that is one of the advantages of this softening effect," said the photographer.
"What can you do for fat?" I asked. "Is there any way you can camouflage that in your little editing room?"
"Whoa! I like that one and I like that one and--oh, what's the difference in price with the enhanced ones and the not enhanced--Oh! I'm liking that one, too Honey, we need to get that. Did you put that on the list?"Hunnee went on. "Yeah, you can hardly see my wrinkles on that either."
Realizing he was getting caught up he looked at me and backed way from the table. "Okay, Honey, you decide on some pictures, I'm through, pick some you like. Go ahead. Go ahead."
"Let's pick some together," I said.
"Well, this wasn't so bad. Let's see...We wore white last year, black this year," Hunnee figured. "and since it looks like I'm going to be stuck doing this every year because you are going to make me, I want to wear my lime green suit."
"Aw. You guys have a portrait made every year?" the photographer asked. "That's so nice."
"Yeah, and I'm wearing LIME GREEN next year. I'm color blind but I like to look cleeeeeeaan. Wear what you want Honey, but I'm getting out my Easter egg suit."
The photographer was dying from laughter. "What are you going to do with him?"
"She's going to love me and beat me when I get out of hand," Hunnee said. "I'm going to pull the car around. I'm wearing LIME GREEN next year."
I was trying to sign off for the picture when he leaned in to say "Lime green" in my ear as if the pen on the counter attached to the counter with a coil was a leash and I wouldn't be able to reach him if he clowned on me. He underestimated the length of the coil and the speed of my reflexes when he tried to say, "lime green" and pinch me simultaneously then whirl around and walk quickly to the door to go and get the car.
Without turning around, while I was writing with my right hand my left was free to slap him on the butt before he was able to get out of reach.
"Ow! I told you she beats me!" He said. On his way out a saleslady from the appliances section saw him leaving, rubbing his butt and saying ouch so he pointed to me. "She hit me! She beats me!"
"She does?" said the saleslady. "You beat him?
"Yes, " I said matter-of-factly. "I have to. It's my job to keep him line."
It took her a few seconds but after she saw the photographer laughing her head off she realized we were together. Now the appliance saleslady was laughing.
"You two are such fun!" laughed the photographer. "This has been one of the most fun sessions I've ever had!"
That's how we have portraits made. So how was your weekend?
