Santa Photo

When I was a small child of 5 or so, my mother, overcome with Christmas spirit, must have actually paid to have our photo taken with Santa. If you knew my dad and his spend thrift ways, you’d know why I’d question her spending good money on a Santa photo – especially this one.

This photo has been a source of family amusement almost since it was taken. It is bad on so many levels, that I seriously question my mother’s sanity on why she decided to have it taken, and furthermore, why she decided to purchase it. Here are several reasons why I would’ve told the Santa photo Department at Bamberger’s to fuggedaboutdit.

Head1. My head. I’m not sure what kind of hairdo my mother fixed me up with that morning, but I am not rocking it. I have a bump that closely resembles a mini volcano.

I look like I have tic tacs for teeth – and I am obviously missing the two front ones courtesy of a a fast ride down the driveway on my tricycle. Little slovie managed to do a face-plant on the pavement and my front teeth hit the ejector seat.

And what is with my hairline? I have some form of bangs but they are more like grass clippings. And for some reason that line across my brow coupled with the fact that my head appears to be square makes me look like the lost daughter of the dude to the left.

Dress2. My dress. Is this a dress or just a t-shirt? Was mom in a rush and plumb forgot our pants? And if it’s close to Christmas, why don’t we have stockings? Bare legged in New Jersey in December? Maybe there was a hint of Indian Summer that day, but most likely the act of  hiking stockings up my chubby little legs was more than mom was willing to do.

Hand3. My hand. And smack dab in the middle of this fa la la la la la photo is my hand. My awkward little hand. I’m not entirely sure what it’s doing. It could be trying to shield my fundies from view due to the fact that my mother dressed me in a Barbie outfit. Maybe I had to pee. Maybe I had an itch. Maybe I farted and was trying to block its escape.

Whatever the reason, it sucks that front and center in this photo it looks like I am digging in my crotch.

the knee4. My Knee. Ok, if you’re going to take me to get my photo taken with the department store Santa in a dress that wouldn’t fit a kewpie doll, and I have a boo-boo on my knee, the least you could do is put the band aid on straight. I can deduct exactly what happened here…while applying the band aid, the adhesive stuck together and mom, in a rush with 4 impatient kids just slapped that fucker on whichever way it would stick.

A straight band aid would’ve been sort of charming. But that thing? It’s like it was applied by a triage nurse at the front lines.

sister5. My Sister. There is a 3rd sister in this photo – can you find her? I don’t know if she was meant to be in the picture and the photographer had a 3 martini lunch or if she was supposed to stay out of the frame, but was foiled once again by the family schnozola. In any case, her nose sticking in from stage right cracked us up for years and years.

You also have to love the placard with the numbers clearly visible in the photo – makes it look like we are getting our photo taken with a prison Santa.

As many flaws as this photo has, I’m thankful it was taken. I never brought my kids to have a photo taken with Santa – the type you dress up for specifically and shell out the dough to Mrs. Claus and her elves. If we did manage to find a short line for Santa and the kids got to sit on his lap, I usually didn’t have my camera.

But my mom managed to rush us out of the house – Bad hair, short dresses and crooked band aids aside to get out photo taken with Santa. Then I imagine she wanted a three martini lunch.

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