I don't take good pictures. No, I know you say that and she says that and all women say that, but I really, really don't.
It was bad enough when I was a kid. I have/had kind of a pug nose and though much better after the nose job the doctor gave me after they took out the brain tumor (kind of a parting gift, as it were), it's still nothing to write home about. Plus, I have always lacked any kind of bone structure. But when I was young I had a certain, I dunno, YOUTH, that helped me carry it off. Or at least, not break the camera, but that gift is gone.
And honestly, my face is now falling off my head. Seriously! Men used to talk to my breasts because I had lovely cleavage. In a few years they will be talking to my breast because that will be where my mouth is located. My breasts will no doubt be tucked into the waistband of my purple stretch pants. I don't have anything like that (except for a pair of fir green velour pants that my dh bought me because he's from the planet Merketroid) but I see it coming.
So while I do have a cute new haircut, it can't undo the slow migration of my face and that pix to the right on my blog is probably the only one you are ever gonna see.
Because I don't do pictures. Ask Ann, my best friend for almost seventeen years, how many pix she has of me. Snicker.