We previously discussed “The Happy Day” here, including photos of my mushroom cloud hair and the obvious — and now deeply embarrassing to me — Ren Faire overtones of the happy day.
But this photo ….. this one gets me.
This is dear dad standing poolside, watching as the professional photographer, aka Lugbutt, snaps pictures of me and my bridesmaids on the other side of the pool. (Pardon me, but it cannot be overstated: Hubba hubba, Dad.)
This photo was taken by our dear friend C who took all our black-and-white candids, which are the only photos of our wedding I actually like. Having someone who knows you and knows the players and knows what means something and what … uhm, doesn’t — hey, Lugbutt! A photo of me standing at the altar all twisted like a pretzel gazing over my shoulder at my seedy past? Guess what? Means NOTHING. I look like a tard — makes all the difference in the world in the quality and emotion of the photos. That look on dad’s face chokes me up. And the juxtaposition of dad with C’s son little baby B here sucking his thumb — IN HIS REN FAIRE CAP THAT MATCHES HIS SISTERS’ REN FAIRE CAPS, OH HELP ME BABY JESUS — is just too much. Baby B is watching the proceedings but impassively, objectively. “Yeah, whatevs. I see something is happening over here, but all my devotion and love is reserved for my yummy thumb, okay? Oh, and my bitchen’ cap.”
That is a first-class picture. C knows the good stuff.