Today was picture day at my daughters’ school. For the special occasion she decided to style her hair differently. Not a good idea. And since she likes to dress up daily, I thought it safe to let her pick out her outfit. Not a good idea. She picked out a too small, wrinkled blouse, hidden in the bowels of her closet. She seemed pleased to be wearing a castoff that even Goodwill deemed, “not good enough,” that I hesitated telling her, “You need to change.” One good thing in her favor, she was zit free. Although, having a blemish, come picture time is not a problem as it can be retouched and removed from the picture.

On the order form we had to choose what (if any) retouching upgrade we wanted.

Basic retouching removes blemishes. Premium retouching gives teeth whitening, even skin tone, blemish and scar removal and slick hair. So, the picture is you, only 100 times better and you didn’t need to sit in a chair for an hour, getting a makeover. These photos are FaceBook bound.

I still have my high school yearbook and you can tell retouching was not around back then. However one looked in the photo, is the how they appeared in the yearbook, warts and all. Most people get better looking with age. The braces come off. Your mom stops cutting your bangs. The acne clears up and the baby fat melts away (until you’re a middle-aged woman going thru menopause and then all the fat comes back and goes to your middle. But, that’s another story.) Yearbook photos are there to make you feel good about yourself as you should be able to look back at them and be able to say, “I was ugly then, but look at me now.”

I wish I had a personal retouch at my last speaking engagement. Prior to the event I had some skin tags removed from my neck which left a visible mark. Since I was self-conscious about them I decided in my infinite wisdom to disguise them by swiping a tanning wipe (which I never used before) over them and my entire body. The stripes didn’t show up right away. NO… they popped up while I was talking. Turns out I had stripes on my neck, making me look like a zebra with a rash. Not a good idea.

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