Torture in the form of a camera

On Monday, I experienced my last ever school photos. Yet another last for this year, following on from last Swimming Carnival, last Cross Country Carnival, last first day of the year, Music Camp, last first day in winter uniform, last ever day wearing white socks to school... No more hanging around waiting for the previous group to finish. No more rushing out of class, hoping not to miss out on something that will be in the next exam (Yes I am a massive nerd). No more being seated in the front row because you're teeny-tiny and happen to go to school with the world's tallest teenage boys. No more worrying that the top row is going to fall off the flimsy scaffold-thing and crush all those below them into a mush of blazers, braids and shoe polish.

And most of all, no more horribly embarrassing posed photos that you have to wait months to see and are hardly ever happy with.

I'm one of those people who has NEVER been happy with a school photo. Well, not since Year 4 when I somehow managed to pull off a decent smile. That particular photo is still the one in my mother's wallet. And then, the hormones kicked in, the mosquito-bite scar arrived (a putrid scab for Year 5 school photos!) and Mum stopped doing my hair. Not one good photo in high school. So this year, I was absolutely determined to finish Year 12 with one decent portrait photo of myself in school uniform.

In Year 10 one shoulder was higher than the other, so I practiced standing nice and straight. In Year 11, my hair was disastrous, so I washed it the night before, tried to scrunch it with product to get nice waves to add texture and intricacy to my ponytail (or something like that), talking to myself in the mirror like a beauty guru on YouTube... And The Rudolph-style nose I've been sporting every year since Year 7 thanks to a tendency to flush when embarrassed/hot/cold/angry/happy/sad/tired/hungry/asleep? Covered with a layer of foundation.

Of course, we sat down for the photos. I hadn't practiced sitting straight! And my hair? Well the product did work, but as I sleep on my side, instead of the waves I'd been aiming for, I got one VERY flat side of hair and one just normally untameable. It took longer than normal to do my everyday ponytail, and no time for clever braids or face-framing curls. I even think I forgot a ribbon! My red nose was successfully covered the morning of photos, as planned for, but, as if I was being punished for my vanity, a couple of nasty pimples popped up overnight on my chin. Concealer was hastily applied, and then put in my pocket for touch-ups (it was a stick concealer), where it promptly melted. Only within the tube, luckily not on my school skirt, but it was pretty much useless throughout the day. Yeah yeah I know, #firstworldproblems. But I had my heart set on not looking gross! When people look back at their passport-photo sized image of me in 20 years, I wanted them to remember me and my personality, not the leering lady with the nutty hair and the wacky skin.

So my perfect school photo? Well I still don't know. Maybe it will be fine! Maybe I'll look like a witch! Or maybe I should just stop caring and think about how much fun it was to laugh along with my grade at the photographer's lame jokes, and try and get away with flipping over the dangly crests on our prefect badges, and just look back at all the old dorky, silly and embarrassing school photos and reminisce about how amazing these last six years have been?