Have you ever had a photograph taken where you look so utterly, totally repulsive that you want to first scream at those closest to you 'Why have you let me walk around with this head on??' then go to the knife drawer and slit your own throat? I had such a photograph taken yesterday.
You might remember that I wrote about the Census job and that I had to send in some ID and a photo. I went to Timpsons, the cobblers, because they now take passport photos. The chap was very chatty but I should have realised something was up when he went quiet and asked if the photos were for a passport. When I said no he told me that he would let me have them for nothing (a saving of £5.99 - yay!) because something was wrong with one of them. One of them!!! He obviously felt sorry for me because I nearly fainted when I saw them. For some reason I look like a cross between Quasimodo in Beauty and the Beast, and Gordon Ramsay post-hair transplant. It looks like somebody has punched me in the face. I mean, I've had some late nights recently but you could fit Posh Spice's luggage in the bags under my eyes. I look completely heinous, just bloated and....yuk. I can't imagine what they'll think at the Census office when they get my photo - probably worried that I'll scare small children and animals.
Big Man, in a rare diplomatic moment said 'you've taken better photos'. And that's the thing, isn't it? One bad photo (or six small ones in this case) can shake your entire perception of yourself. I thought I was a fairly innocuous-looking middle-aged woman with problem hair, who could do to lose a few pounds but who basically scrubs up well. Now I realise that I actually look like someone whose picture appears in Psychiatry manuals above the legend 'Mad Eyed Screamer'. I can't even be happy about saving £6.
This calls for drastic action.