Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Why it's my picture and I'll bershon if I want to

Inspired by a post over at Hilarity in Shoes, I decided to post my own bershon picture. You all know what bershon is, right? If not, take a minute, I'll wait for you to catch up. Or you can just look at the following photo, circa 1993, because it will tell you all you need to know and more about bershon. Are you ready? I'm not sure if I'm ready, actually. I can't believe I am going to show the Internet a picture from the height of my (admittedly lengthy) awkward phase. Deep breaths...

Ok, here we go...

No, wait.

Ok, now.

Here I am, thirteen years old, and clearly loving life. Don't be fooled by the disarmingly folksy church lady-ness of my mother, as clearly (as you can see by my expression), she is to be punished for her desire to do things like be proud of me and stand next to me. Don't you know pride is a sin, mother? 

We are all dressed up fancy-like, because I am about to go perform at a band concert. With my clarinet. I am actually a bit surprised I was not forced to pose with it for the picture, but then, there probably would have been actual blood. What's that? Why, yes, that is an extra-large sized lavender silk shirt I'm wearing, how kind of you to notice! What's that, now? I don't seem like an extra-large to you? Well I have to buy it in extra-large because I am tall! God! I mean, no, I didn't say god, I said gosh, mo-ther! (When the real reason is "because all the cool kids are doing it," it's good to have a back-up excuse. Similarly to when my sneakers were no longer white, and I would push my toe all the way to the very end and make my mom feel to make it seem as if I had outgrown them. Worked every time.)

From a distance of almost twenty years (!), I can tell you a few things about this picture right off the bat:

1) Though it may seem that by including not only ours but also our neighbors' trash cans in the frame, the photographer was making a pointed statement on American consumerism and modern decay, I'm pretty sure it was just a coincidence combined with a lack of any and all photographic instinct. 
2) This was not taken on a national holiday, as evidenced by the rolled-up American flag in the garage, waiting for its next chance to billow gracefully hang limply over
the land of the free our front door.
3) The passenger side car door is open, indicating that someone (me) had already gotten in the car, and then was forced to get out of the car again to take this picture, I mean god. Are you people trying to kill me?

I tell you, my mistake was wearing pantyhose. Whenever the pantyhose came out (and pretty much only then), it was, Wait, let me get the caaaaameraaaa! Precious moments, indeed.  

So there you have it, folks. The bershonniest bershon that ever bershonned. Anyone want to fight for the crown? 
  

6 comments:

  1. Love. Everyone should be required to do a bershon entry. No! A week of bershon Facebook profile pics.

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  2. Love it.
    Don't you know pride is a sin!!? lol

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  3. "...and clearly loving life."

    Clearly you need to write a book. That was gold.

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  4. Also the crossed arms - Fantastic.

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  5. Thank you for this word, 'bershon'. I did not know there was a word to describe that very poignant, very put-upon, very...*13*.... feeling.

    What do adults do? The opposite, maybe. The harder I'm smiling in a photo, these days, the worse or more eye-rolling I consider the situation or the photo co-subject. I look absolutely radiant in a photo taken the day after my father died, because I was faking so hard.

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