The Hobbit

Effy was recently in a community theatre production of The Hobbit.  She was the grocery boy girl hobbit. I was quite amazed (not really sure why) at how she took over the stage when she entered for her scene.  She had a small part, but she is no small actress.

While G and I were waiting for the play to begin, G wanted to record the moment for posterity and whipped out her camera and told me to pose.  I hate getting my picture taken, mostly because I’m not very photogenic.  The last good picture taken of me was my first grade picture.  All subsequent pictures have been horrid.

G held out her camera and leaned into me and said, “Say cheese!”  FLASH!


“Holy crap, can that flash be any brighter?! It blinded me!” After my vision cleared of white spots, she showed me the picture. “That’s awful.”

Grace adds, “You squinted. We’ll do it again.”  She gives me some quick instructions to minimize the turkey neck and double chin before we lean our heads together.  FLASH!


“Gah! That light is so stinking bright!”

G looks at the photo. “You moved! Why is it so hard for you to take a simple picture?”

“Because I take horrid pictures, and the light on your camera is a freakin’ halogen headlight!”

“I give up,” G says.

“No, let’s try again.” We lean our heads together, and I brace myself for a blinding flash. FLASH!


“Hey! I kept my eyes open on that one!  But it’s all discolored. We’ll have to do it again.”

“No. This one is fine, Mom,” G conceded. Poor girl. All she wanted was a picture of her and her mother.

“Here, use my phone.” I took out my phone, and flipped the camera, so we could see the screen. FLASH!


“Crap, the flash was pointed the wrong way.”

“Here, Mom,” G grabs my phone from me, more than likely out of exasperation. “I’ll do it.”

G centers the camera. We lean our head’s together, and FLASH!


“Holy Mary, Mother of God! My eyes! I’m blind!” The flash on my phone was at least twenty times brighter than on G’s camera. Now two white dots stacked on top of each other like an incomplete snowman was taking up my entire line of sight rather than just a small white speck. “G, I can’t see. Most seriously.”

With my field of vision being obstructed, I can only guess that she rolled her eyes at me because she does that when she says, “Oh, mother.” Then she added, “I give up.”

“No, no, no. One more time. Just let my eyes adjust first. I’ll make them super wide, so when the flash goes off and I squint, they’ll look normal.” It made sense at the time.

“And it helps to look at the lens and not at the flash.”

“Gotcha.” She hands me back my phone and grabs her camera.

We lean our heads together, smile, I bug-eye, and FLASH!

“How’d I do?”


G laughs in total resignation. “It doesn’t look any different from the first one we took,” and hands the camera to me.

And this is why I don’t take pictures. Gah!

Shortly thereafter, the lights went down and the curtained opened on my Effy’s debut performance. I wish I had a snapshot of myself for her to see how proud I was of her at that moment (I’m always proud of her, but you know…).  She made the crowd roar with laughter, and after she exited, she received an ovation.

G snapped a shot of Effy and me after the play.


Apparently, it is impossible for me to keep my eyes open when there’s a flash. Eff, however, never flinches.

Remember that face. It’s going to be famous one day. 😉


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