Meeeemories

Yes, that is me front and center.

My grandmother insists on keeping this picture of me on the fridge o' memories. THIS PICTURE ONLY. I have taken a least one hundred million zillion more attractive pictures and this, THIS, is what she leaves up for all the world to see. Do you see the great picture of my cousin on the top right? Yeah, she's eight years younger than me. EIGHT YEARS YOUNGER AND SHE GETS HER SENIOR PICTURE ON THE FRIDGE O' MEMORIES. Although to Maw Maw's credit the baby beneath her is also her. But I can't figure out for the life of me why she leaves that one picture up. I hate that picture. I have ALWAYS hated that picture. Passionately. Violently. Hysterically. And yet there it is, staring me in the face every single time I go home. I mean, I know there are metaphors for facing the past and things you disliked about your former self, but do I really need a framed photo of the eighties hair on the fridge for that? I think not.

Also? My incredibly amazing grandfather is in the black and white picture to the left. What an amazing, fun man. I miss him.

P.S. It's good to know I had bags under my eyes even at that time. It's not just my old age!