Back when I was doing 31 for 31, I figured if I was going to take pictures of my outfit EVERY. SINGLE. DAY, I might as well get some decent ones, so I pulled my courage out of storage and took the camera outside.
And, yes, I got some slightly better pictures than when I take them in my bedroom.
Except the very week I decided to do this, my downstairs neighbor and dear friend Lindsey went on a cruise with her husband. And her mom came to stay with their little boy, Charlie.
The first morning, just as I’d gotten everything set up in front of our building, out strolled her mother and Charlie. I was too far committed, equipment-wise, to be willing to just give up, so I took my pictures and felt like the world’s largest idiot.
And when she asked why I was taking these pictures, I think I mumbled something impressive like, “It’s for my blog.”
The next morning, just as I opened the door to my apartment, I heard Charlie’s happy little voice just below me.
Now I felt like a MEGA-idiot. Here I am, off to photograph myself once again.
I kid you not, EVERY SINGLE DAY that week, no matter what time I went outside to take a picture, I perfectly timed it with her either coming or going.
When Lindsey got back, I shared my tale of daily bad timing with her, and she said, “Yes, my mom mentioned, ‘Janssen really takes a lot of pictures of herself.'”
And I just about died of embarrassment. This picture-taking of one’s self is for people with much higher tolerance for humiliation than I appear to have.