Arian Murati STAFF WRITER

Comb? Check. Lee jeans? Check. Eddie Bauer flannel? Check. Your mother does one final spot check as she drops you off. She runs her fingers through your hair and fixes the buttons on the flannel you were too incompetent to button up yourself. She reminds you about last year when you vomited all over the photographer and warns you that if it happens again, say goodbye to that Nintendo 64 for Christmas. It's picture day. Don't fuck this up.

"You're six goddamnit! ACT LIKE IT."

"But they always do it after recess, and I always get dirty."

"I swear, if you mess up another one, I'm telling your father."

"NO! Please! The bruises finally cleared up from last time!"

You sit in your chair, quietly contemplating your day while your teacher stumbles in ten minutes late smelling suspiciously of hookers and crystal meth. Periodically, you head over to your cubby and get out the comb. You think you're going to stay clean for an entire day and take a good picture, but you want to sit outside and play Mud Bakery more. Who else can make a mudpie as well as you can? No one, that's who.

The recess bell rings, and everyone storms out of the classroom, and onto the blacktop. You think to yourself, " I can play at least two rounds of duck duck goose without falling down and getting bloody. I wore the Velcro shoes today." The other kids are looking just as spiffy, but they're all staying clean. For some reason, it was only you that managed to attract dirt and broken glass in the worst of situations. Even the kid who doesn't shower stayed inside for recess, but you, you're a trooper. Why sacrifice a perfectly good recess for some lousy picture?

Finally, the bell rings again. You've managed to survive an entire recess without getting dirty. You have but one final obstacle: the dreaded walk through the cafeteria. The cafeteria where the kindergarteners throw ketchup and where the special ed kids have been known to have "accidents" on the floor. You dodge an apple, then duck to avoid the flying Lunchables ham that no one ever ate, and you soon find yourself feet away from the gymnasium door. You've done it! You're going to take the greatest picture ever!

You wait in line with the rest of the class. In alphabetical order, the class dwindles down to you, smelly kid, and the kid whose parents are hypochondriacs. Smelly kid starts coughing. You don't care, but Sterile Steve behind you starts freaking out. He starts screaming at smelly kid to close his disgusting mouth. Smelly gets offended. He shoves the other kid a bit, and before you know it, it's a good old fashion child fight. You were recently named hall monitor, and you know that your orange sash gave you jurisdiction anywhere within the confines of the school. You try to break up the fight, but in the process, your authentic Eddie Bauer flannel from the fall collection of 1996 is ruined! You drop to your knees and scream, and in the midst of the chaos, the photographer grabs you and throws you on the strange wooden chair thing in front of a soft nature backdrop. He demands you smile, but you're too pouty to smile. Finally he bribes you with the Lambchop puppet and a lollipop, and you open wide, only to realize that you have no front teeth. Your hideous gap toothed grin gets splattered on some wallet size and 4x8 prints for your entire family to laugh at. They say you look cute, but you know they don't mean it. They never mean it. After school, you meander back onto the bus and await yet another Chef Boyardee dinner from a can and hope that there's a new Ninja Turtles episode on, but most of all, hope that you can get to the prints before your parents do.

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