This will age me, I know, but it's something I'm going to admit: I'm really bad at selfies.
Other people - and by this, I mean people of a more junior generation - have mastered the art of the yours-truly photo.
They shoot selfies on the bus. They shoot selfies in restaurants. They shoot selfies in classrooms and at concerts and on street corners and at house parties and at hockey games and in automobiles and at ATMs in grocery stores.
And pretty much everywhere else. Not me. When I take a selfie, I tend to cut off my forehead or eyes. I tend to place my thumb in the picture. I tend to include things I don't want to include. Like my feet, say, or my purse or people I don't even know.
Masters of selfies, it seems to me, are not inclined to take pictures of strangers or of their feet - unless, of course, their feet are contained in designer pumps that have just been purchased at 80-per-cent off the regular price. That would be selfie common sense.
"We should take a selfie," the husband remarked the last time we were watching our Favourite Team. He suggested we position ourselves in front of the field, to show the stadium in the background.
No idea why he suggested this, since he knows my lack of selfie know-how.
"I'm bad at selfies," I said. "You try."
He pulled out his device and extended his arm.
"It's pointing in the wrong direction," he said. "How do you make it point our way?" "I can't remember," I said. The son would have been able to sort out the issue, but the son was not with us at the Favourite Team's game.
The husband asked a stranger, who hit something on the phone.
"There," said the stranger. "You're good to go."
The husband extended his arm again. We moved close together and smiled. The husband took the shot. "OK," he said. "Let's see what we have." What we had was a blurry shot that took in the top of the husband's head, a couple of stadium attendants, a railing and an exit sign. I wasn't in the picture. "Oh, my," said the husband.
"Wait!" I called to the stranger who had provided the cellphone assistance. "Can you take our picture, please?" The stranger had started to walk away, but happily turned around. She took a shot - a single one - and it was absolutely perfect. "Nice," said the husband.
"Lovely," I said. It may not be a selfie, but it will absolutely do. I'd love to get a glossy print, but I'm afraid I don't know how.
