Last weekend was magical. I attended a wedding in Palm Beach Florida, at the Polo Grounds don’tcha know, and it was all ever so loverly and quite tah tah if you get my drift. The people however were anything but stuffy. The people were oh so down to earth and wonderful. Anyone at all would feel comfortable among them, but the setting was, well…it was Palm Beach dahling. I had all my fancy outfits ready to go, my attitude was perfect and my enthusiasm was over the top. Before I knew it we were there! It exceeded even my expectations from every front. Sniffles and tears for the bride and her family abound. Hugs and kisses were traded with old friends not seen in for-eh-vah. Nice warm dry breezes (great for the hairdo) drifted through my champagne clad fingers. Ahhh. It was all very Town and Country if I must say so myself. My sweet hubby was on my arm and taking photos of the entire scene, and then…..then he wanted to take photos of me. Me with my friend Jo. Me with the bride, her daughter. Me with Presley the flower girl. Me with the polo field behind me. Oh yes! Cheese! Cheese! But wait! Every girl of a certain age knows that photos of self must come with rules. You gals know what I am talking about and yes, I have my own list of them any time a camera appears. As Tom was cutting up and catching “candids”-eeee gads!- of all of us, I did my best to discreetly beg of him to:
So once all is said and done, what we have, folks, is an outstanding photograph of my right eye. Glamorous it ain’t, but it is somewhat… well… artistic if I must say so myself. Better yet, a photo of the flower arrangement with me in the distant, very distant background would be just dandy. Why do you think that wedding photographers take all those close-up photos of the big button on the elbow of the mother’s dress? Hello! It is because they know that she might actually purchase that photo over the one with her back fat pouring over the zipper of an overpriced strapless dress that makes her look “more like the bride’s sister than her mother!” Right. Whatever. Sell me something else, Carson. This is why nature removes our perfectly good eyesight once we hit 50. It is like putting a soft focus lens over life and the mirror. Everything looks like a perfume commercial if we don’t screw it up by adding glasses or contacts. So run with it. Live in your own fantasy. Zoom in on the earring or the headband but, goodness, do not ever, EVER take my picture from a level below the treetops. Even in Palm Beach.