I just Google-imaged myself, and wow! There sure are a lot of pictures that come up. Very, very, very, very few of which are of me. I can only imagine the sort of mental image you would get of me, dear gentle readers, if you did the same.
Strictly for the sake of vanity, I will clear up the matter. Below are some of the other pictures, along with one of the real me.
The shark isn’t me — though some may feel that picture captures my essentially-cantankerous nature.
The crying baby isn’t me, either. Some might disagree with that, but I swear it isn’t so.
Nor is the pit bull me. (I know some women get called “dogs,” but REALLY.)
Neither of the donkeys are me. But what a cool picture!
Colonel Flagg isn’t me, either. I’m not that butch.
THIS is me. No, I am not that young anymore. It was my school picture from either sixth or seventh grade. One of my cousins posted it on Facebook as a trip down memory lane.
I’d like to say I haven’t changed much, but I must admit I do look somewhat older.
But I like the screaming-loud Seventies shirt. I might even still fit into it, if I could find it.
I guess that clears up any confusion. When you read my posts here, just think of that shirt. It captures the essence of me pretty well.