I was thinking of putting a picture on the blog. A picture of me, to be precise. Seeing as how I haven't been to Glamor Shots in awhile (not since I lost my cowboy hat and feather boa), I don't have much to choose from. How come your whole life is documented, minute by minute, up until age three, and then it's like you don't exist anymore?
There have been a couple of decent recent ones. The one from the Twins game in April (shout out to Target Field!) is pretty good, but fuzzy when trimmed (I know, usually trimming fixes that!). The one from the bar after the Twins game is better, except that my head looks about seven times too large for my body, which it isn't. The one from the wedding earlier this month is okay, but I'm wearing pink and I never (minus one) wear pink. Plus it would clash with my classy orange background.
So, instead of adding a picture of myself, I'll just share with you how totally freaky whole cooked snapper looks, fresh and bubbling from the oven.
I'm not posting it because it looks like me, or anything like that. I would just like to share with you how very goddamn sharp its teeth are and admit that, when I leaned over the pan to season the far side, I did suck in so that it wouldn't bite my soft underbelly. So, there you go. I guess I'll invest in another feather boa, but this time I've wearing a bowler.