Smile!…..Oh, Va Te Faire Enculer!

I have taken some slagging this weekend. I think I might have brought much of it on myself, right enough.

Apparently, referring to David Bowie as an artiste is deemed incredibly pretentious and results in, Ooh, la, la’s and Lah de dah’s from my jokers here. Having a Glaswegian accent does not allow you to insert French, or any other language, into general conversation. I don’t care what they say. I know they all think he definitely had a certain je ne sais quoi.

Bastards.

The main piece of slagging actually started on Thursday and continued right through until yesterday. My own fault, as I said.

Hubs and I had to get passport photos taken (our old ones are so out of date, they’re relics). But hubs has been growing a beard. Yeah. No problem with that. His face. He can do what he likes with it. Up to a point. What he can’t do is put it near me. It started off jaggy and then just got tickly. I can’t abide being tickled. Anywhere. By anything. Hate it. I panic and scream. Even been known to cry. So no one tickles me. Under threat of death.

So, the beard. Tickling wasn’t the only problem. The beard is, was, oh, sod it, here’s what it was. https://scottishmomus.wordpress.com/2016/01/17/hair-today-gone-on-a-promise/ (And feckin’ WordPress won’t let me link normally! What is it with this place and changes?!)

Now, the beard came off. I was pleased. He should’ve been pleased too. Took fifteen years off him. We went to the photo booth in the local supermarket. Not before I’d put a fresh face on though. Wanted to look my best, didn’t I?

Why do things never quite turn out according to plan? Or be as straightforward as they should?

The instructions on the machine were quite complex.

Choose the right set of photos. Sorted.

Put money in. Done.

Check seat height. Swivel, swivel, swivel back again.

Align eyes with the magic line. Swivel some more.

Uncover your head. I don’t do hats.

Show your ears (!). I don’t know either. I thought maybe they wanted to be able to check for the presence or absence of ear lobes as a genetic identifying trait. Tucked my hair behind my ears.

No hair on the face. I’d already shaved. Kidding! Sweep hair away from forehead and tuck it in along with the side bits. Looking a bit like Hitler at his point. So tempted to do the finger moustache. Lot of face on display now.

Do not smile. No problem, this isn’t funny. ‘cept for the thought of what the  passport office would say if I sent in my Hitler impersonation.

Do not make any facial expression. Fuck! I can’t do that. When I see the corpse in front of me I know why now. You need expression on your face to look alive.

Keep your eyebrows down. Double fuck! One of mine has a life of its own.

Ready? Steady…..

…don’t smile, don’t smile, do not smile, keep your eyebrows down, look straight ahead, do not think about Hitler’s ‘tache, keep your eyes aligned, don’t look away, Do Not Smile…

…and Snap!

One very ugly, traumatised pic.

It was lucky I had my fourteen-year-old daughter with me to talk me through the process. She kept popping her head through the curtain to keep me right. You’d think she’d have been a bit more on the ball with the results, mark you. Louise takes the best selfies of all my crew. Their words. We both rejected the first one but thought the second would do. It looked okay in the reflection.

How fucking wrong we were!

I kid you not, it was the ugliest photo I’ve ever had taken. Really minging.

And I should know. I’ve had some belters.

I even kept a collection of stoaters so that I could show my kids, should I have any, for when their teenage insecurities would inevitably arise. My sister would just rip hers up. Pot ugly, rip, rip, bin. And this was in the days before we had mobile phones, so every photo in the bin was like throwing away money. Holiday batches would come back from being developed and she would rifle through them, dismissing one after and another and shredding them. Even if you were in it. And looked okay!

I must have had a premonition, way back then, that I’d be surrounded with weans. I actually recollect thinking, ‘I’ll keep this (hidden) then surprise my kids with it when they feel an ugly day is upon them. I’ll whip it out and say, ‘Look. Even your gorgeous mother had off days. I never looked like that. It’s the camera. It lies.’

I’ve never had to whip any of them out and reassure them. They’re the selfie generation. All pouts and confident smiles. And if it doesn’t turn out well? Delete.  Just like that. How was I to know, all those years ago, that mobile phones would be a thing? And that selfie would even be a word. I could have saved myself the bother. They’ve found some of my stash in the past too and just ripped the shit out of me.

Hubs got in, daughter talked him through it. First time, fine. The bastard looks younger than me. And he’s fucking eight years older. Eight and a bit. Sometimes nine.

I thought, stuff it, I don’t care.

But I did. I do. I even got slagged for being vain! Like they wouldn’t have minded? Aye, right! You look in the mirror and you think you look one way. Then you see a photo and your illusions are destroyed.

According to second daughter, there’s a pile of psycho-babble about the mirror/camera/self-perception. I understood it at the time. Just can’t remember what it was. Something about she sees a nine in the mirror but she might only be a seven. The mirror contributes value added tax via personality. The camera is a bitch. Something like that.

Anyway, I had to take both photos and forms into work to get them countersigned by one of my colleagues I’ve known for about ten years.

She actually asked me if I wanted her to certify that it looked like me. And I was consoled that at least she didn’t think it did. She kept glancing at it then at me. I’m easily appeased.

I then passed it round the staffroom so’s they could all get a good laugh. They did. Some said theirs were bad too. But I know they weren’t as Quasimodo’d as mine. I could tell by the look on their faces, as they tried to compose them into some sort of expression that didn’t say, ‘For fuck sake! What happened to you?’

My eldest son wasn’t that kind. He’s a bastard though. He said, ‘You look as if you’ve been seriously assaulted and found in a hedge at the scene of the crime.’ He is a bastard, isn’t he? Even although I had to agree with him. I looked traumatised. Like Hitler must have after, you know.

On Friday, they all gathered, for a soiree. (oops) Not just to look at my photo, obviously. But I just had to show them. I mean, I just had to.

I kept saying, ‘Sure that doesn’t look like me? Please tell me that doesn’t look like me? Am I walking about looking like that and I don’t even know? For fuck sake! I’m fucking ugly!’

By now, hubs was pishing himself laughing. So were the kids. And my daughter’s fiance. He didn’t say anything though. He’s obviously much nicer than my own kids. I think he might be scared of me too. No fucking wonder! I was terrified when I saw me in that photo.

My eighteen-year-old said it did look like me but maybe in about ten or fifteen years from now. She’s a bitch. Hubs said that was good, though, because then I wouldn’t have to get a new photo when I next go to renew my passport in ten years. He’s a, he’s a, he’s sleeping on the couch!

The applications haven’t gone yet. I’m so tempted to go back to the booth and have another one taken. Or kick the shit out of it. But I’m scared I’ll get another just the same. Or even fuckin’ worse! Then I can’t even say it was an aberration. I can’t risk that. I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. I’d just keep saying to myself, ‘Do ye think ye’re lookin’ good, hen? Aye, well remember what thought done. Shat the bed and blamed it oan the blankets.’

I’ve always known I wasn’t photogenic. Now, I’ll have the evidence for the next ten years. And that bastard of a son of mine said that the DVLA could access my passport photo when I come to renew my driving licence. Did you know that it’s become obligatory to have photo ID on your driver’s licence? So, I’m not only running about illegally (sh!) but I’m doing it with a coupon that looks mangled. And he wants me to let them put the same one on my licence!

It’s snowing here. If it clears up I might nip down with my illegal licence and talk nicely to the photo booth.

Then take it back into school on Monday for another signing. Maybe another slagging. But I’m a hacket-faced bint so I can cope with that.

My only consolation (I always look for the bright side) is that three of my daughters are nice kids. My youngest said I always look beautiful. (shit, I wonder if she’s a bit slow) and my twenty-two year old produced her passport to show me that she looked, in her words, ‘like a junkie’. And she did! I felt so much better. My eldest said I shouldn’t mind because, if it were her, she’d rather the geezers at passport control were shocked the right way. She’s maybe my favourite now. For a wee while.

And, if you think there’s a hope in hell that you’re getting to see it, you’re wrong. Very fuckin’ wrong. Jist so’s ye know. I’ll unfollow ye if ye ask. I feckin’ will!

Off to practise taking selfies. Wonder how the filters work. Je ne sais pas.

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37 thoughts on “Smile!…..Oh, Va Te Faire Enculer!”

    1. I’m fine with mirrors. I maybe need my eyes tested again though going by the results of photos. It really must be a perception thing. I’m happy enough (not delirious, mind you) with how I look. You smile at the mirror and off you go into the world thinking how you look inside!
      It’s like walking about with spinach in between your teeth if the photos are anything to go by. I’m all, hiya, how are you doing, and folk could be going, get her, she’s got spinach all over her face! I’m also really shocked – and a bit disappointed with myself – at how vain I must be to be even bothered. Not much of an example to my kids when I’m freaking out over a photo!
      Snow still hasn’t cleared yet. Bastard! 😉

      Liked by 2 people

  1. I definitely know my only passport is from 1974, it looks stark and like an “orphan.” Not needing one after that, exploring my country and raising kids on a shoestring. Finally, contemplating visiting my college friend in Mississippi (2017)and heading to Georgia for 2016 Spring break. Take comfort from your nice daughter and know your husband loves you despite “bad” photo. On a lighter note, I posted my grandbaby and cropped my head off. Everyone has their yucky photos.
    I consider people who criticized your use of “artiste” bizarre and would throw them into spam. They will go straight there, never appearing to comment again! A magazine reviewer would like this description of David Bowie. He was a very uniquely talented artiste. Smiling because it is a perfect descriptor.
    I had a commenter who thought I “lied” about my big dating experience. Another was insulted because a man who met me at an Italian restaurant and had 2 men in black plainclothes at next table, “appeared to be” a member of the “mafia” or “mob.” She complained I was stereotyping. I am the least bigoted or labeling type of person. (I started my blog with telling about 100 “dates” in 6 months which were coffee, ice cream or walks in parks. I chose them from 1500 likes on match.com Some were bizarre but men can be, I chose the weirder ones, since they were the ones my warehouse friends said, “You need to blog about THAT one!”) Well, hope any of my comments are comforting. Take care, Robin

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, nobody here on WP criticised. It was here, here at home, that I was getting slagged off. My own kids!
      ‘Wisn’t he jist brilliant?’ I said.
      ‘Aye, he wis, mum.’
      ‘So creative,’ I said, ‘ a true artiste.’
      ‘Artiste? Artiste! Whit, dae ye live in France noo, then? He wis an artist, mum.’
      ‘He was an artiste, I’m telling you. Artists paint pictures. Artistes can be any sort of talent.’
      ‘Aye, we know. But, ye cannae speak in Glaswegian and then stick in a French word when ye feel like it!’
      My kids like to keep me grounded. They’re wee shits. 😉
      How awful, though, that you came in for that kind of criticism on here. People can be very touchy, can’t they? Right enough, I actually changed a couple of bits of this post so’s I wouldn’t offend certain sensibilities. Or other people’s experiences. My son’s comments were actually worse. And my first remark about my youngest might have caused some raised eyebrows. Jeez, I’m getting pc. :/
      Thanks for reading and your supportive comments. Try not to let anyone bother you with negative comments. The bin’s the best place for them.

      Liked by 2 people

    1. The kids put together at Christmas to send me and their dad off to Dublin at Easter. Just for two nights. I think they felt sorry for us because they’re gallivanting all over the world now and Frank and I could never afford to take seven of them abroad. We’ve let our passports lapse so they’re paying for them, the flights and the accommodation! Great Christmas present. We didn’t neeed passports when we took the kids to Ireland before because we went by ferry. It’s only the airport you need them for. Anyway, once we get the passports, there’ll be no holding us back. We both used to love travelling and the kids keep telling us we’re so difficult to buy for at anniversaries and birthdays and the like. They keep booking Groupon deals and buggering off. Now, we only have the two youngest we have to pay for. Might just go without them though. 😉
      We all got to know Scotland very well during all these years of holidaying at home. My younger two are always saying, though, that their school friends can’t believe they’ve never been abroad. They just ask them if they know where various places here are. And that shuts them up. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Sold firm last night. Still in a little bit of shock. Can’t wait to get at the books and music! Especially all my Bowie and Eagles albums 😦 Mixed bag of a week, to be sure. xo

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      2. Congratulations, Cole. That’s brilliant. House buying is stressful. Exciting but stressful. And it’s been quite a January for loss. I hope there’s no more. Best of luck now with the packing and move. Deep breaths.x

        Liked by 1 person

    1. That’s always the way, isn’t it? 🙂 I think I know how to curse in about seven languages so that’ll come in handy. Might not be any good getting served in many restaurants, right enough. 😉

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  2. Pssst…up there…on the left…there’s a selfie on each and every reply for your twitter account, or are THEY doctored to look ‘just so’, the bootiful look 😀
    And you look bootiful anyway momus…truly…but you could change it to that Hitler style if you so wish…raised eyebrow here, a twist of your mouth there or maybe a even a snarl with a finger across your top lip to do the zig heil salute thingy 😀
    Great post though momus, what a journey. Remind me to never go anywhere that needs a passport photo…lol

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  3. I forgot about that one. I took about six hundred before the camera on my phone snoozed off and accidentally forgot to put the troll filter on. I’m not unhappy with the way I look. I just hate cameras because they’re big fat liars. And I just never look the way I think I look! My eldest says that I just don’t know how to take a selfie properly. I hold it too close, she says. Need to stretch my arm, she says. I’d need some feckin’ arms for that! She says all my selfies make my nose look big! Did I say she was my favourite in that post? What was I thinking?!
    I even went out this evening to do a bit of shopping in the same place and I didn’t even get another one done. I’m so ashamed at my vanity I’m sticking with the pig ugly one. Unless I change my mind tomorrow! Tell you what, though, that particular photo will never see its way on to any book cover!
    I’m going to get Louise to teach me how to do it properly, figure out what every filter does and then send it into the passport office and tell them I’ve had a facelift. 😛

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I haven’t laughed so hard for ages momus. I’m sorry, I’m not doing it AT you, just with you. What a couple of days you’ve had….did you think that if you went back to bed it all might go away…the photo fairies might fix it all for you 🙂
      Now there’s a thought….I know a fairy that’ll do it….she’s called Photoshop, and the magic that can be created in that is amazing. Even I can look like Hugh Jackman in that 😀

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I’d probably end up with that bitch out of Sleeping Beauty! Look what she did to poor whatsherface. Could do with the sleep right enough. I don’t have Photoshop but Ive heard good things about it. I don’t take many photos. Neither does hubs, funnily enough. Our poor kids are short on evidence they ever had a childhood. Started off with a sister-in-law that took tons of the first and second two then tapered off once she got her own kids. Cheek of her. Got rid of that one. I mean my brother did. By the time we got to Anna we just showed her pictures of the earlier ones and said, ‘Aye, that’s you.’ They were like Russian dolls anyway. Seen one, you’ve seen them all. Even their teachers said that.
        Aye, so, not got Photoshop although I’m using my phone more now for taking pictures of the sky and shit. Doesn’t really pick up the moon too well. There was a corker here the other night – you probably saw it! Got the same moon haven’t we, only different. Camera just made a big blob out of it. Most disappointing. The moon was probably giving it, nice one, Annie. Not! See, both sides of the camera, I’m useless. But I’m good at other stuff and I can always practice my pointing and shooting. And my poses. 😛

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      2. lol…oh momus. So what your trying to say is…if they invent a time machine your going back to shoot the inventor of camera’s 😀
        I suppose that only leaves you getting a good photographer while you hold a gun at their head 😀

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      3. Me and cleaning? I’m thorough. Just not frequent! He invited us to do a family portrait ages ago and I’ve just not taken him up on it yet. I’ll swap it for a portfolio and then keep a supply for emergencies. 😉

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