I need you.
I am style-less. I am very content to walk out of my house in clothing that:
1. fits properly, and
2. doesn't have paint on it (most of the time)
This is a problem.
Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
This is Joanna, at Joanna Taylor Photography.
We went to school together.
I like to name drop.
We were like this.
She's like: "No. We were not."
Anyway, Joanna only takes clients as hot or hotter than her.
Which is why she turned us down.
That's a joke there, Sonny. No, no. She takes funny-looking clients, too. Which is why she booked us.
She really has her work cut out for her. I told her how totally, utterly awkward in front of a camera we are already. Also, I told her she has to make me look thinner. And zit-less. And only get my good side.
She is soo screwed.
Anywho, I don't know what to wear. This is where you come in.
Follow me into my closet.
Act like I'm your Barbie. Except 20 pounds heavier, in all the wrong places. Oh, and with bad skin. And bad hair.
Okay, so are you with me? Help me. I beg of you.
I should take this opportunity to say that I see myself (for a portion of this session, at least) in something nice, with heels. OF COURSE: heels. Onward.
Don't worry, don't worry-- I shan't be sporting that post-pool, Julia Roberts "Sleeping with the Enemy" hairdo that day.
Glad I could put your fears to rest.
I think I ought to tell you that that grey number goes way, way down:
and also while I'm thinking about it that I forgot to try on this number that I have as well.
Leaning towards this navy number. . .
Rest assured that I do own an iron. And I do know how to use it. Prior to this occasion. Cross my heart.
Maybe we should just go for a "Marla Hooch" shot and forget about it.