After the dance

The moment Tiger put on his tux for his first dance, Hubby turned to me and said:

HUBBY: Bonnie, remember: this is a digital camera. That means we can take THOUSANDS of photographs if we want, just because we CAN. And if we take THOUSANDS, a couple of ’em are bound to be good ones.

I thanked Hubby for his confidence in me as a photographer, and then turned my viewfinder on Tiger. Here are the results:

This first shot is of Tiger holding his date’s corsage in his right hand as he runs away from the woman who not only helped him order and pick up said corsage, but who drove him back and forth from the tux rental shop.

And we won’t even mention how that same woman (the one with the camera) spent 35 hours in labor with him.

Oh! And here’s a lovely shot of Tiger trying to hide behind his dad in our workout room. Still fleeing his mother and her camera.

Imagine him not wanting me to take his picture!

Me, the woman who had to follow him carefully around the playground in order to catch him before he chomped down on one of his playmates; me, the woman known to the other parents only as, “The Mother of That Biter.”

And here’s Tiger finally realizing he can’t reach his date’s house through the workout room, but instead must allow his parental units to drive him there. With their camera.

Note the paper in his hand. It contains directions to his date’s house—directions his camera-toting mother printed out for him, thank you very much.

And here he is, fleeing to the van, which I (heh, heh!) locked with my handy remote control, effectively trapping him outside where I could take even more pictures of his back.

Oh, my! This is fun, really it is, but it will never make up for the time he screamed for 20 minutes in the Costco checkout line just because I wouldn’t buy him the Where’s Waldo? book he wanted.

Aw, and isn’t this cute? We’re at his date’s house, and he’s just realized that I’m not going to put away the camera. I guess I really embarrassed the poor kid.

Yup. Well. Mom taking photos might be embarrassing, but nothing as bad as volunteering in first grade and hearing your son read his paper to the class:

FIRST GRADE TIGER: Las nit Mom tol Dad we ate all the pie but rily I saw Mom eat all the pie.

And here we are at last, awaiting the limo, poor Tiger still clinging to the hope that his mother just might give up on the picture-taking hobby.

Fat chance.

I hear my camera and I made a fine conversation filler for the long limo ride to the dance.

That’s okay, because even though I didn’t intend to become the Great Teenage Annoyer, I see I have a wonderful talent for it. It’d be a shame to give it up.