Wifely Editorial Control

Last Saturday we spent a pleasant day at my eldest daughter's new house
on the outskirts of Doncaster.

I knew that amongst the energetic conversations, the good food, the
cups of coffee, would be the need for Mrs M to take photographs.

She has always felt the need to do this going back to the days when the
word 'negative' meant more than the contents of a Simon Cowell review.
These days she has far more access to equipment that will record every
smile on offer. Now we have the blessing, or curse, of digital.

On Saturday my bride forgot to take her camera so I had hoped that we
might have got away with it. But her new mobile phone has the facility,
along with many other functions that have nothing to do with long
distance conversations, to take photographs.

Mrs M took them as we arrived. She snapped as we ate, much to
he disgust of her daughters who, not unreasonably, insisted on being
given the chance to swallow their food and smile first. She took them whilst we watched telly.

Before the end of our visit, she turned into her version of a
wedding photographer and proceeds to set people in groups so that
everyone feels included.

Then, before I had the chance to escape she hands me the camera and
instructs me in the art of taking pics of her proudly posing with our
precious girls.

I don't really mind this, because I too am proud of them and love to
see them all together.

The problem is that she never likes any of the shots I take. She
compares them to the ones that she produces and says that I don't
compose them correctly. I either stand to close or I stand too far away.

I refrain from suggesting that the only difference between our output
is that she is missing from hers.

I don't make this comment because her presence ruins the look of them: quite
the reverse as she is beautiful.

The problem is that she is over critical of herself in photographs. In this she is joined by our daughters, who all take it in turns to look through each slide and exercise editorial control.

I am quite convinced that this wasn't always the case but, now that we
have Facebook, the possible audience is huge.

It seems that within ten minutes of any social event the odds are that you will displayed to thousands of people, many of whom you don't know.

And so people are far more concerned about pictoral quality. When I say 'people' of course I mean the females of our family. All of us males take whatever comes; and as such there are hundreds of photographs of me on the internet either eating food, half way through speaking, looking like I am about to sneeze, half asleep on the sofa, or looking like I have just been dragged through the proverbial hedge in reverse.
This, apparently, is not a problem because the girls always look good. But then that's th benefit of having editorial control.