“I found this in the attic,” my wife said holding an old shoe box. “It says photographs on it. I thought you said that you had no photographs from when you were younger.
“Oh, I forgot about that box. You haven’t opened it, have you?” I asked, not hiding my nervousness very well.
“Oh, don’t I have the permission to see photographs of you as a child?” my wife playfully teased. “I know that you were a nerd, but they can’t all be that embarrassing.”
I winced as my wife stuck her manicured fingernail underneath the tape. She mistook my grimaces for playing along. I did not want her seeing these truly embarrassing pictures. I don’t know why I had even labeled the box, I should’ve burnt it.
“Who’s this girl?” my wife asked pointing at the very first photograph. “Looks like you. A cousin or someone like that?”
“Umm, not exactly. I said staring at the floor. “Look, it’s complicated.
“The whole box is filled with images of this girl,” my wife interrupted. “You don’t have any sisters. Really, who is she?”
“It’s me,” I reluctantly said.
My wife stared at me. Then she stared at the pictures in the box. She counted the number of photographs. Her mouth slowly went agape. “You look absolutely adorable!” she finally exclaimed.
“It was my mother’s idea, initially. But then I started earning money. I was young and the money seemed like a fortune to me at the time,” I said with my face furiously blushing. “I suppose I was something of a model.”
“Not just something’ of a model, honey. I should show our daughter these pictures. She’s obsessed with fashion my wife insisted. “You know, few teenage boys would be brave enough to do this.
“I was twenty-six,” I said.