Then he snapped my daughter-in-law. She whooshed her hair, flashed a smile, and the camera flashed too. "Click," okay, "click again." "Click," "click." She could have picked any of the photos. They could have been in Cosmo. She was gorgeous in them all, bli ayin hara. Both my daughter-in-law and granddaughter have these giant wanna-hug-you smiles that make you just love them. So, while most people have dorky passports that they want to hide, theirs will be uncommonly lovely. I'm happy for them, truly.
Next, I was up. I had to stand against the white backdrop. I gave my biggest (as my daughter calls it...) fake smile. He snapped. No good. I looked like a giant face with tiny eyes. Again, "snap". The light glared on my glasses. Again...oops. More glare. He turned the camera upside down. Glare still.
I took off my glasses and still tried to smile. I looked more bizarre than ever without my glasses. It was evident, I couldn't even see the camera that had been aimed at me.
Glasses back on, I tilted my head this way and that, trying to avoid the glare. I smiled. I stayed stone faced. I smiled w-i-d-e-l-y. I smiled coyly. I laughed. I almost cried. He shot the camera one way, then the other, right side up, up side down. He banged the camera. He changed the batteries. He changed the memory card. He snapped again. He turned on the lights. He turned off the lights. He snapped and snapped.
Finally the good-natured photographer handed me the camera and said, "Pick one." Oy vey. Despite his most valiant efforts, the photos were all the dorky kind.
My daughter-in-law tried to make me feel better. "You almost never travel. Almost no one will ever see your passport."
Hm, yet another incentive for never leaving Israel.