I learned that in today's Austin American-Statesman there ran an enlarged version of the photograph I mentioned here, the one that I won't actually link to because it's so unpleasant to look at.
Let's be honest here. All of us have, at one time or another, rehearsed an acceptance speech for the Oscars. We've all flirted with the possibility of appearing in the pages of high society rags, with captions highlighting who designed our shoes and our recent professional achievements, in that order.
This picture of my Fellah and me at the SVT opening party is about as close as I'll ever get to being the target of fashionable envy.
And this is what we get?
I happen to think my Fellah is downright handsome. His smile sets my heart a-pitter-patter. Me? I have my good days.
This was not one of them.
My Fellah looks like someone poured salt on his eyeballs. I look like he just broke my neck in order to get it into the nook between his ear and shoulder, which doesn't explain the ridiculous smile on my face. But then, nothing explains that.
Plus: we neither of us were wearing our very best. We were there for the chocolate covered strawberries and the brie on toast, for crying out loud! I didn't pull out the Kenneth Cole or Marc Jacobs.
At least the caption makes us sound like we have great personalities.