"With more of a gleam in your eye! You're fighting a Gorgon, for chrissakes!"

We finally relented and got a digital camera. There've been too many weddings-new cars-new dogs-new homes of late for us to keep refusing to document our lives. So I finally allowed an investment of fifty dollars to be made in the lowest grade possible.

Now, heaven forbid that he indulge in a purchase without it first being approved for my own purposes--but it really does seem to be working out for both of us this time. He's using it to quietly undermine annoying urban pretenses. I'm using it to see how my ass looks in any given pair of pants ("Now for the capris. No, NO. You have to back up--I want my sandals in the shot."). To each his own.

More importantly, it's handy for drawing. No more contorting in front of the mirror, straining to see just what a person looks like when dancing a jig with a bearded snake. No more bolting back to the pens and paper in a race against my shoddy memory. Oh, no. Now I have a model, however unwilling, and the efficient means to capture and render. So, if my stalwart princes start sporting suspicious beer bellies, and if my greek heroes start resembling mild mannered HR directors--well, we'll all know who to blame.