“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” said the photographer, getting ready.
“I mean it,” she insisted from behind her mahogany desk. “I’ll break the camera. I always do.”
“Look, your company wants publicity photographs of all new Board members. Smile, please!”
Something tinkled quietly. Dismayed, the photographer realised his upmarket Canon’s lens had shattered. He tried a Nikon, then his beloved Leica. Same thing, each destroyed.
“Told you,” said the woman. “I’m ugly.”
The photographer looked; she might be right, though it would be wrong to say so. But in the end the company settled for an artist’s line sketch.
“I mean it,” she insisted from behind her mahogany desk. “I’ll break the camera. I always do.”
“Look, your company wants publicity photographs of all new Board members. Smile, please!”
Something tinkled quietly. Dismayed, the photographer realised his upmarket Canon’s lens had shattered. He tried a Nikon, then his beloved Leica. Same thing, each destroyed.
“Told you,” said the woman. “I’m ugly.”
The photographer looked; she might be right, though it would be wrong to say so. But in the end the company settled for an artist’s line sketch.
