: if I should die before I wake :


Good luck, because I haven’t prepared. There’s no last will and testament, no burial instructions, no poignant, heart-rending farewell, no nothing. It’s all loose ends and unfinished business. Someone’s gonna have to wing it.

Wait, that’s wrong, I made one final provision: I selected an obituary photo. I’ll entrust that little detail to nobody since it represents me for all eternity.

Do you know how many dopey snapshots there are of me floating around unattended? Too many. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of full color images exist with me smiling in horrifying getups. Stuff like bell bottoms, evening gowns, mini skirts, eyeglasses the size of windshields, bathing suits, poofy hairdos, aaargh. My last good picture, if memory serves, was in second grade and even that one featured a prominent cowlick born from an unfortunate haircut.

Given my druthers, I’d sooner have a gun pointed at me than a camera. I’m really not an eyesore, just awkward and painfully, horribly self-conscious. A combination that often looks like nausea. Or fear. Or wooziness. Or irrational annoyance. 

So what type of photograph did I decide on? A professional portrait? A glamour shot? An artsy rendering? Nope, nope, and nope. It’s not a picture of me at all, it’s a picture of my tennis shoes. They’re goofy and inoffensive and unbefitting the occasion, which describes me to a tee. Plus they’re stuffed with socks, to give them a little extra pizzazz. Shoes are a pretty clever stand-in, don’t you think?

And mine take a darn good picture; I don’t. I’m too twitchy. I could fill entire albums with pictures where my eyes are closed, or I’m sneezing, or moving, or yawning, or scowling, something dorky, anyway. There’s a staff photo I’m in with my co-workers — bright, capable people, all. I’m the one scratching my head with one eye closed. It’s no wonder I break into a sweat when I see a camera. Still, damp is more photogenic than itchy, in my opinion.

My tennis shoes, though, are the most photogenic of all. They’re practically to die for.

copyright © 2019 the whirly girl

17 thoughts on “: if I should die before I wake :

  1. 😁I know exactly what you mean, but you know what? … You become much more photogenic when you stop worrying about how the camera sees you. So relax (you’re good at that) and give us a great big smile. That’s right! (No, I didn’t hear a soft mechanical click just then. And I wasn’t pointing my phone at you, honest!!)

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  2. hmm….you and your tennis shoes have inspired me. I am giving some thought to my demise, so that I don’t leave too much of a headache for anyone. I will almost certainly use my already well-known photo of my feet for the order of service…they’re more relaxed and far less self-conscious than I am…

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    1. I made a will with all the important details years sgo, but have no idea where it is. I’ve moved about a half dozen times in the interim. I’m older now, the end seems more imminent, so I avoid dealing with it. That’s the whirly way, unfortunately — cowardly 🤷🏻‍♀️

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  3. Heheheheheh…I so get this. I actually put together what I call my “Funeral Book”. In it resides the only pictures I am allowing anyone to show at my funeral. My sisters think I’m crazy and hate it. I think it is almost as clever as tennis shoes with socks int hem.

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    1. A funeral book, what a great idea. I’ve given some thought to writing my own obituary, but never considered the actual service. I’m going to think about this —- I wonder, can a person write their own eulogy?

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