"You're just not looking at the big picture, Doc." - Sawyer, Lost

 

Why would we need studio pictures of Pugsley? He took this one himself. Truth be known, if he gets his grubby hands on a camera, he’ll take about a dozen or so pictures of his eyes. I think he’s distracted by bright and shiny metal objects – put an LED in a chrome hubcap and he’d buy it, if he had money instead of blocks. Like father, like son.

We went off to Bullseye® (not their real name) on Sunday. The Mrs. likes to take pictures of The Boy and Pugsley on their birthdays (we can afford a birthday for each one, but they have to share a cake – each one gets the cake on alternate years) at an actual studio. I keep telling The Mrs. that we have numerous pictures of the back of their heads and we can print those out on plain paper, but for some reason The Mrs. insists that would be grounds for beating me with a broken broom handle.

So, off to Bullseye™ we went. The Mrs. had procured an appointment the day before, so it wasn’t like we were walking in begging for pictures to be taken on a whim. We had . . . an appointment.

We arrived two minutes early. We’re that prompt on the weekends, at least after noon. If we have an appointment.

The clerk dutifully gave us a clipboard to sign in on, along with requests for various bits of personal information, such as the liability limits on our auto insurance and our pant sizes. In the midst of this the photographer bursts from the studio, and begins pecking at the computer, and the snippet of conversation that I overheard indicated he felt they had “wiped all of last week’s data,” and that “John McCain is one scary dude.”

They ignored us.

After waiting ten minutes, The Mrs. and I had enough. The Mrs. crumpled the form (a-ha, now you’ll never know how long my inseam is!) and we walked out. They didn’t say wait, they didn’t say, “I’m sorry.” Nada.

The Mrs. was relatively infuriated.

I decided to assuage The Mrs.’ hurt feelings with a nice meal. We drove off to a restaurant. It had valet parking, but then again in Houston McBurgerBell® has valet parking.

No valet was in attendance. “Maybe they’re off getting pictures at Bullseye®,” The Mrs. observed.