Photographs of your kids

yor Fuck You, and Fuck Your Kid’s Wallet Sized Photographs
A guest post by Angry Trvel Gurl

Last night, I had the great pleasure of dining at my mother-in-law’s house, where, my sister-in-law, (who is my arch enemy) started boring me with the details of her two children’s most recent photo shoot. Now, mind you, these children have had professional photographs taken, literally, every three months since they were born. Not counting all the cutesy iPhone pics in between all these sessions. To this I ask: why?

Seriously. Fucking why?

Why do your children need to be photographed every three months like clockwork? Are you that afraid they will be ‘napped within the three month period and you need their most recent photo for the John Walsh Brand Child Tracker Program? (God forbid something horrible ever befall my niece and nephew.) And more importantly: whyshould I give a damn about your kid’s pictures? How does this directly impact me and my day-to-day ability to survive?

“The sitting fee was only $75.00!” She gushed, “And the photos so affordable! She gave us a special rate, and we only paid $230 for everything! (Sitting fee not included.) I’ll be sure you get a wallet size picture, okay?”


I cannot begin to count the number of wallet sized photos I have of these kids. At least thirty. Probably more. From Christmas, Easter, Halloween, birthdays, more Christmas, random summer portrait sessions, and many more. And each time, I dump the photo in my office, and it eventually gets thrown into a filing cabinet drawer.

Why do I need these? I don’t. I remember what your kids look like. I see them at least once a month, and you post pictures of them on Facebook EVERY FIVE FUCKING MINUTES. And then, you send me e-mail copies of all the pictures you post on Facebook.

“That’s okay,” I said, “We don’t need one, I’ll just print a copy from Facebook.” (Lie.)

“YOU’RE GETTING A WALLET PICTURE!” Sister-in-law roared, as her skin melted away to reveal a demon of the most horrific magnitude, and she leapt across the table,
karate chopping me, severing my spine and draining me of my life force.

(I got better.)

You know what I hate even more than wallet sized photos of my nephew and niece? People at work who whip open their wallets to show me their wallet sized pictures of their children/grandchildren. I DON’T FUCKING CARE! I’m trying to do my job here, and looking at pictures of your snot-nosed ginger grandkids is not helping me make a paycheck! Fuck off!

Last week, a manager skipped up to my desk with a POSTER SIZED photo of her child. That’s right. POSTER SIZED. WHY? I promise you right now my parents never had poster sized pictures of me, thank God. I’d be mortified. Can you imagine your kindergarten photo, blown up, POSTER SIZED? Me with my front tooth missing and all the freckles and frizzy hair?


“ISN’T SHE ADORABLE??” The manager gushed, thrusting the poster in my face.

Another question I hate. Especially if your kid is ugly. Like this one. Seriously, I’m not a baby hater or anything, but I call ‘em like I see ‘em. And this kid is ugly. If it wasn’t for the pink feather boa and lacy white headband the kid was wearing, you wouldn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. The child is
18 months, and still has no hair. This freaks me out. No idea why, but it doesn’t seem natural. It’s like a Chucky doll or something.

“Erm, yes, she’s lovely,” I say, trying to turn back to my paperwork. “LOOK!” Says manager, shoving a portfolio in my face, “THE PHOTOGRAPHER TOOK OVER 100 SHOTS, AND I WEEDED THE PHOTOS DOWN TO 75, LET’S LOOK AT EACH AND EVERY ONE, OKAY?!”

“Okay,” I sob quietly, while trying to tie a noose out of my phone cord.

Seriously parents? Just stop with the photographs. How can you afford this shit, anyway? Recession, my ass. If we get parents to stop whoring out their kids to photogs, I promise you, we can pay China back our national loans like, ASAP.

Reporting live from the battlefield, this is AngryTrvlGurl

I agree totally. One of the reasons I left facebook. That an every fracker wanting me to feed their cows on Farmville. One of my main problems with friends offspring is their middle names, they always introduce to the world using all names and I spend the first five years of their life not remembering which name is the one to use.  In other slightly related news, I have implemented a policy that if the kid can't say "why are you so grumpy Uncle Captain Ranty Pants then they are no good to me. Captain Angry Ranty Pants

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I agree Angry Travel Gurl--you summed it up nicely!