Several years ago, spotting a soft-focus Kodak moment, I whipped out my trusty Canon and focused on one of my girlses.
“No, don’t shoot me, I look horrible!”
What’s going on here, I thought to myself, am I on a film set, dealing with some high-strung movie star?
This happened again and again with Offsprings #2, #3, and Karen. In spite of the fact that all my girlses are devastatingly beautiful and always camera-ready.
But try arguing with a woman who feels less than perfect.
One day, feeling deeply frustrated when one of my girlses ordered me not to trip the shutter, I cried:
“Okay, I won’t shoot your face. Is it okay for me to shoot your, er, shoes?”
There was a long pause.
“Um, o-kaaay, I guess.”
Thus began the Avrech family portfolio of my girlses footwear. Shooting shoes has become something of a minhag, a tradition, around here.
“I’ve got a new pair of shoes, Daddy.”
“Excellent, let me get my camera.”
Snick! Snick! Snick!
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