It happens every year so I'm not sure why I'm ever surprised. I am but a simple girl with simple dreams. And my dream was for my 4th grade team to acquire enough matching Christmas sweaters to fill a school week. It makes wardrobe-planning a snap. Turns out, it also makes me want to snap the necks
(NOTE-TO-SELF: Edit that line later to "snap at" and lose "the necks" so readers don't realize that I'm in the midst of a murderous merry-making melt-down.) of my some of my usually-easy-going and such-a-joy-to-work-with co-workers.
You would not begin to believe the bickering that accompanies each picture-taking session. "Why do we even have to take a picture?" Geri groused, "We wear the same stupid sweaters EVERY year." I glared at her as I wrestled her bodily into place. "So we can one day look back fondly upon our years together as treasured memories," I hissed. Maybe a space of five to ten years will enable me to forget the trauma and focus only on the good times. "What good times?" Geri seethed, clenching her teeth for the camera.
Kelly likes to have a plan for the picture. Like a back-story or a theme. "The theme is that Amy makes us wear ridiculous matching sweaters for a week," Geri told her, "We don't need to get into character for that. Just stand there and smile so we can get this over with." But Kelly cannot be thwarted. "Well..." she mused. "I'm the only one who likes cats, so I can look happy and you guys can act mad." Rachel and I agreed and began preparing for our roles as actives cat-haters. "Wait," Geri interrupted, "I like cats." "So be happy," I said. Geri considered this for a moment before admitting that her hatred of the Christmas sweaters preceded her love of felines. "I'll be mad too," she conceded.
Our poor photographer...an innocent bystander...was tortured as we argued, debated, disagreed, and belittled one another over a simple picture. Finally a suggestion was made...I don't know by who because I was rocking a pounding headache by then...to "look like cats." Idiotic. But by then I didn't care. To Geri's credit, she even managed to mangle a meow during our photo shoot. What had once begun as a dream had turned into a nightmare.
You would not begin to believe the bickering that accompanies each picture-taking session. "Why do we even have to take a picture?" Geri groused, "We wear the same stupid sweaters EVERY year." I glared at her as I wrestled her bodily into place. "So we can one day look back fondly upon our years together as treasured memories," I hissed. Maybe a space of five to ten years will enable me to forget the trauma and focus only on the good times. "What good times?" Geri seethed, clenching her teeth for the camera.
Our poor photographer...an innocent bystander...was tortured as we argued, debated, disagreed, and belittled one another over a simple picture. Finally a suggestion was made...I don't know by who because I was rocking a pounding headache by then...to "look like cats." Idiotic. But by then I didn't care. To Geri's credit, she even managed to mangle a meow during our photo shoot. What had once begun as a dream had turned into a nightmare.
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