How Caricatures Can Ruin Your Life

This is what happens when you let your husband talk you into something that is clearly is terrible idea. I'm no stranger to doing things I really wish I had never done, including haunted houses, scary movies, and street food that would kill most normal people. I let it happen. My husband always pulls out the "one time experience" argument and I am meant to feel like a party pooper if I don't jump on this nifty opportunity. I fall for that shit every time. My hope was that no one would ever see this awful reproduction of what appears to be a man with a scarf and a gangster, both in serious thought. This was my husband's idea and he deserves all the shame that comes along with it.

We were having a great vacation in San Francisco, when we happened upon one of five hundred artists who do caricatures on the sidewalk. We watched this older gentleman draw two young girls and it was amazing work, he had somehow made it look as if he had taken a photo of them. It was beautiful.

"Let's get one of us together." my husband suggested.
"No."
"It will be fun. We can take it home and show the kids, they love this stuff."
"No."
"Why? What is your problem with letting someone draw you?"
"No."

Here is my problem with letting someone draw me. First and foremost, my nose does not look attractive in drawings. I have to work really hard and tip my head in just the right angle in order to look somewhat appealing in photos. It's work and only since the invention of phones that allow you to take your own picture, have I even somewhat enjoyed my face in photographs. Problem number two is that I have short hair. Short hair without the addition of color on my face has the tendency to make me look like a dude and that's not really what I am hoping for when I get a picture with my husband. People begin to wonder if my husband left me for some semi-attractive man in a heavy scarf and a denim jacket. The last problem, the one that makes my skin crawl, is someone staring at my face for any longer than 90 seconds. It makes me uncomfortable and I know they are noticing the lack of grooming on my eyebrows, the blackheads covering my nose and my inability to look them in in the eye after a few glances. It's awkward as fuck.

After the photo was done, I took one look at it and wanted to light it on fire and punch my husband in the face. It became exhausting to carry and depressing to look at, so I suggested tossing it in the next garbage can we passed. I took a quick picture of it with my phone and searched for a trash receptacle. My husband didn't want to waste it, so he decided to give it to a street vendor selling peanuts and cans of soda. As he quickly handed our disturbing caricature to this complete stranger, we both began booking it toward the baseball stadium, praying the guy wouldn't chase us and try to return the gift. Never again, bitches, never again.