Dear Unknown Author,
I can prove you wrong.
Here's how: today we're going to take a little trip down Molly's memory lane.
It has been brought to my attention more than once that I did not look like a happy child. Why? Because I did not know how to smile. Some of you may wonder--how does a kid not learn to smile?
How could you not smile when your mother poses you to look like a painting in a haunted mansion? Here is where it all started. I would not consider myself to have been a truly unhappy child; however, the photographs beg to differ. This is when I first started to realize that my mom is truly a show mom. I mean, when your mother starts pretending that you and your brother are in an advertisement for Gap Kids, one starts to catch on that she has got other motives besides merely taking a family portrait.
And she wonders why I call her Patsy Ramsey.
I'm going to go ahead and state that it's safe to say I wasn't smiling here because someone took a weed wacker to my bangs. My lips say, "I'm trying to smile!" while my eyes are still reliving the horror of what was obviously a very traumatic afternoon of haircutting.
But I think we all can agree that I am working those puffy cap sleeves.
This, my friends, is the culmination of everything I have been trying to explain.
Welcome to my First Communion photo. I never really considered (until today...14 years later) that I am dressed like a miniature bride...which is definitely creepy and probably a detail that someone needs to look into.
Besides the fact that I look as though I got married at 8 years old (I am now scarred for life), there are a couple of things we need to discuss that led me unable to smile:
1.) White gloves and White Rose:
Why am I adorned with what one typically sees at a Catholic funeral? I have pallbearer gloves on. Mind you, they are satin, but nevertheless, they are short...white...gloves. Don't even get me started on the rose.
2.)Bangs:
I actually remember what happened this day. My mother sometimes likes to think she's crafty and capable of performing what I now pay a woman $120 dollars to do. On this fine day, she decided I needed a little trimmy-trim and proceeded to gather my bangs, twist them into one clump, and cut straight across with kitchen shears. The result? This photo, where I look like the weird kid in the back of the classroom who eats glue and talks to herself.
3.) Red Lipstick:
I often joke with my mom about how she is a show mom, similar to the moms on TLC's "Toddlers & Tiaras" or Lifetime's "Dance Moms." She (and everyone else) brushes me off, telling me I'm overexaggerating.
THE WOMAN PUT RED LIPSTICK ON ME FOR MY FIRST COMMUNION PHOTO.
Nothing says "Welcome to Catholicism!" like dressing up like a harlot.
Obviously, I've got the whole "smile like you mean it" thing down now.
*I would also like to offer a sidenote for the 2nd and 3rd photos--how cute was my brother?*
