I did it. I'm ashamed to admit it but I caved. When Pioneer Woman started posting pictures of poor Charlie as yearbook pictures of the past I could not stop laughing in spite of (or perhaps because of) a vicious migraine and I simply had to join in the fun.
I went to Yearbook Yourself and began the slow descent into madness, aided by the fact that I have spent every second of free time I had today reading Jane Austen. It really set the tone for the pitiful display you are about to see.
So here, before we commence, is my apology in the style of Austen herself, who no doubt would roll over in her grave were she ever to be cognizant of my blog.
My dear reader, I must begin with a most heartfelt and sincere apology for the following portraiture for, as you well know, my esteemed countenance bears no great improvement by being subjected to the meagre renderings of those previous fashions which seem to us today to be so amusing. However, if you continue in your perusal of this, my egotistical and foolish narrative, you cannot help but be the happy recipient of such felicity as which only comes from the beneficial engagement in mirthful activities and frivolity of manner as that which comes at the expense of one who willingly offers herself up to the scrutiny of all who happen upon these unhappy photographs. I would caution you therefore to lay aside your goblets of refreshment lest in your sudden violent outbursts of hilarity you soil the very screen upon which you fix the intensity of your attention. For, although my own countenance bears little resemblance to our highly regarded basset hound of previous acquaintance, neither does it possess much merit in its own right other than that of unwarranted exclamation and possibly disgust. Time will yet tell. In any case, let my deepest regard to your sensible feelings be made known and forthwith you may be at your own peril in partaking of these profound and disturbing images which more accomplished artists would be loathe to pursue.
Oh my goodness, I feel better.
Ugh, no, I don't. It's a very good thing I missed the sixties.
But wait, this one is almost as bad. And I remember 1992. I was in high school. I actually looked like this. This was MY ACTUAL SENIOR PICTURE!!!
This isn't me. I like the glasses though. Maybe I should get me some of those.
This is my great-aunt Hepzibah. This is going to be really useful to my family tree project.
I'm not quite sure what to think of this one. I'm a little afraid my dad might fall in love with it and that makes me feel icky. Dad? Help me out here. Please don't. Please.
Aaahh, better. Back to the trendy, edgy, denim-covered, asymmetrical nineties.
AIIEEE!! Yikes! Who let HER in here?
Enough, enough! Stop the madness! Get me back to Jane Austen. And quickly.
One more? Okay, you asked for it. Actually you didn't. Heck, it's not even me, it's my poor innocent son. Don't look. Just don't do it.