My friend Brandie* emailed me the other day about some photos. Not just any photos. Photos I had her take of my preshus family like back in November…2012. Photos that I was supposed to choose 10 favorites so she could give me the hi-res, no watermarked versions so I could print and frame them and hang them in my spotless and beautiful home, and let’s face it, they’re pretty much going to sit on a hard drive somewhere until we dig them up someday, blow the dust off, and say, “Hey! Remember when we used to use hard drives? HAHAHAHAHA! I wonder what’s on this damn thing anyway?” Because I’m sure by then we’ll all be storing photos in tiny chips in our brains, only they aren’t photos at all, but really snapshots taken with our eyes, because it’s the future and stuff. SCIENCE.
*This is the same Brandie whose ad is on my sidebar that I should take down soon because she’s going back to teaching when her own twin girls start kindergarten this fall, so calling her for a photo sesh might be frowned upon after a long day of dealing with 6-year-olds. TL;DR: She’s wrapping up the business.
So the deal was, I was supposed to choose 10 photos, out of like 893. NBD. Only it’s TOTALLY A BIG DEAL, because how can I turn down that sweet photo? And that one? Aw…..that one? Oh yes. I look hot there (read: mildly not like a spaz). Definitely that one. So that’s 37 photos? Oh, and the extras are $10 each? OH HI, NEVER MIND.
I have this little problem where my frugality – yes, that’s what we’ll call it – often gets in the way of my senses. I’m limited to 10 photos before I have to pay extra, and I keep that 10 photo limit dead set in my brain. I will not pay extra. Not because I don’t love the photos. Not because I don’t have $20 or $30 or $50 to spend on some priceless memories. It’s simply my stupid brain saying “10 photos. TEN. No more, no less.”
So I listed the 30 or so photos that I liked most, made a mental note to sit down with Christian that evening to narrow then down, and then, I don’t know, someone decided to spread pepper all over the floor to practice their soft-shoe dance routine, and I promptly forgot about the whole thing.
The next day I came across the scrap of paper with the photos’ corresponding numbers on them, made a mental note to go over them with Chrsitian that evening, set it aside, and promptly forgot about the whole thing again.
In fact, for days and weeks I shuffled that little piece of paper around, each time making the same mental note. I’d only remember it when Christian wasn’t home or when I was in the shower, or when I was fighting crowds of imbeciles at Costco. I mean, what is up with that place and all the people who don’t know that general traffic rules still apply in the aisles of a warehouse store? Slower traffic keep right, don’t stop in the middle of the lane, and — well okay, just go ahead and push your way through, lady. A 5 lb bag of Brownie Brittle waits for no man.
Every once in a while, Brandie would text me about the photos she was waiting for me to choose. “Oh, sorry!” I would reply. “Been crazy busy!” which is basically the flake’s version of “I forgot!” or “I shouldn’t be trusted to watch your children because I might lose one!” Or something.
Then I started asking for the photos one by one. I needed one for Christmas cards. Then another for an article I was writing. Christian started bugging me about getting some printed and framed so we might have some reminders of the joyful evening we spent threatening our children to smile, dammit! Unfortunately by this time, my little scrap of paper with all the numbers was long gone, likely suffering the fate of being converted into a drawing of Hello Kitty or Ninja Turtles, with a coffee splatter embellishment or two. So I kinda forgot about it…again.
And then that fateful email from Brandie the other day. The reminder that she was wrapping up her photography business and wanted to get these photos to me. And would she like for her to choose the remaining photos?
To which I replied, “Yes, PLEASE. Sorry! It’s just been CRAZY BUSY around here!”