For as long as I can remember, my mom had this little issue with pictures. She would take them, but she would rarely get them developed. Sometimes she would claim that she didn't have the money to get them developed. Sometimes she would claim that she didn't have the time, and sometimes she wouldn't say anything at all. She would just take the roll out of the camera and toss it in a wicker basket that she kept in her bedroom. Eventually that basket became so full of film that anyone not privy to my mother's inability to follow the picture-taking process all the way to the end might have thought that the Easter bunny had finally run out of candy. He had not. The truth was my mom was just a film hoarder.By the time my sister and I were adults, the Easter basket got a buddy, a Folgers can full of um-um-good but still undeveloped film. After my mom died last year, my sister took custody of the basket and can so she could get the film developed. However, like my mom, Her Highness tends to put things off so she didn't actually take the rolls to the drugstore until a couple of months ago. A lot of the film was so old it couldn't be developed. Other film, the "rolls" that came from my Le Clic camera, will have to eventually be sent off to some specialty online store since neither CVS nor Walgreen's had the means to develop the flat disc type of film. (Check out this Etsy ad if you're too young to remember Le Clics. Mine looked just like the purple one listed, while my sister had a matching pink one.)
As for the film they were able to develop, my sister finally mailed me copies yesterday. She wasn't kidding when she said our entire childhood was about our Pekingese Prissy. Around 70 percent of the pictures were of her.
As you can see, Christmas was all about Prissy, her stocking, and apparently her need for one more cup of coffee.
There were a few other Christmas pics in the envelope, but they were all of me showing Prissy what Santa brought her.
Now onto one of my birthdays. From the looks of the bangs, I would say the birthday was one of my middle school or junior high birthdays. Not that it mattered because Prissy wanted cake.
She just didn't necessarily want it at the table. Check out those acid washed jeans. Remember when we used to tuck and roll our jeans like that?
Of course the Spoiled One was too good to eat from a paper towel so I had to end up doing this.
And later, when her tummy was all full and she had barked "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep," I tucked her in for the night.
The only pictures of me, Her Highness, or my mom sleeping or in bed had Prissy right next to us. Same goes for any picture of us on the sofa, on the wicker love seat, or in a chair.
There were a couple of pre-dance recital shots, but there were more shots of what happened to the costumes post-recital.
I think Prissy was hoping we would take her to Glamour Shots. There was also a picture of what happened to my mom's high school graduation cap and old glasses.
Just goes to show that not all dumb blond dog jokes are true. There were a few cat pictures as well. I think the cat is wearing ear muffs in this shot because she's tired of hearing
Now if those pictures didn't prove just how much Prissy ruled our lives, take a look at this hideous, worn out, dirty, paint-covered chair.
That chair should have only been in one place--the dumpster--but my mom kept it in the living room because it was Prissy's chair.
Prissy died in May 2002 at the ripe old age of 17. A couple of months later I adopted Bella and six months after that Bailey. When it comes to photos, I can't say that my adulthood differs very much from my childhood, as most of my pictures revolve around my dogs. I can say, however, that you'll never catch me with an Easter basket or a coffee can full of film, although I might rename the dog pictures file on my computer to Easter or Folgers, just for nostalgia's sake.
