This is the photo my co-workers chose to use on the invitation they made up for my 25th anniversary party. I’m not frowning; I’m squinting into the sun with a candy pacifier in my mouth and awful hair (for some damned reason), trying to adjust the photographer. Or the camera. I forget. This photo is from almost 10 years ago and was taken during a departmental picnic. I may not have been entirely sober, either. (That probably explains the hair.)
It’s a crappy photo of me, but I love that it’s used anyway.
I love that my co-workers dare use it, dare play such a joke on me, dare risk getting me mad at them. (I did try to. I can’t disappoint.)
I love that I am able to shake off any upsets about not looking perfect (or even normal) on the invitation.
I love that everybody in my department is having fun with my 25th anniversary. Sometimes planning a party is as much fun as the party itself.
I love that I have the sense to appreciate my loony co-workers with their practical jokes and huge hearts.
I love that I am one of them.
And I love that I didn’t have to twist my closest co-worker’s arm to get this photo so I could blog about it.