I realize that the reason I wanted my friends to have formal pictures taken together is that I am trying to squeeze them into the vacuum left by the Sicilian. The boyfriend vacuum. I guess that’s a lot of people to squeeze into a space left by only one person–and not an enormously large person at that–but there you are. I go to my uncle’s house and I see the formal photo of my cousin and her brand new husband grinning down from the mantle, and it suddenly looks like indelible proof that her life is going somewhere and she is behaving in an adult manner. I want a boyfriend (and consequently formal pictures) to make me look like an adult. Like a passport I can flash to get me into grownup country.
I also need proof that I have a crew of friends again, after not having had one since high school. All my “we’re having fun” group shots predate my college years, and I see all these huggy waterfight photos from college framed on Michele’s wall and get very jealous. It makes me a litle crazed, and that’s why I am publicly (sort of) apologizing now for sulking at Michele and Nuala a few days back and claiming that we never do anything fun, after they laughed my formal group shot suggestion out of the water.
I am still lobbying for the Edward Gorey Midnight Picnic though. I am on a manic spree of new fun having and cannot be talked down from my Club-Med-Director ledge.