I’ve always been a take-charge kind of person. If there is something on my ‘to-do’ list, it gets done. I return phone calls, emails and texts in a timely manner. I do occasionally miss a text or two, though I am not sure if this is due to the age of my phone (and no, it doesn’t flip open) or the text is hanging out in the clouds with all the other missed connections in the world.

An item on my list for well over a year has been to get my picture retaken for this paper’s masthead. The little snapshot you see of me when you open the paper is quite old. Intentionally old. Because I hate having my picture taken. You may have noticed, until today there wasn’t an actual picture attached to this column, just a drawing. The editors believe it was their idea to create it instead of using a standard head shot. Hmm. I can be tricky like that.

It’s not a matter of disliking the way I look, or wanting to lose weight or get the fine lines removed from my face first. All might be valid reasons—but if they were holding me back, being a take-charge kind of person, I would have resolved those issues. No, it’s because I have a scary smile in photos. It frightens children and adults—and quite honestly, me.

I’ve written before about my resting bitch face, which is a real affliction. Since my 30s, people have said things like, “It can’t be that bad, smile,” or “Who died?” Now, as I have aged, people just seem to want to move me through whatever line I am waiting in a little more quickly, and they’re relieved when I don’t start screaming about some problem. Many are left speechless when I wish them a nice day.

The iPhone brought my wonky smile to my friend’s attention. Before, when you had to have pictures developed, most friends just assumed they  aught me off guard and that’s why I looked so odd. But then the selfie trend began. Friends gather you around their phone, snap several pictures, and quickly review them so they can post them to Facebook or Instagram. At first, most people are nice: “Oh, that’s not a great shot of you,” or “Let’s try this again.” Until your real friends just come right out and ask you what is wrong with your face. How come you can’t smile like a normal person?

Several years ago, my girlfriends and I spent an entire vacation taking selfies, all in an attempt to get me comfortable about smiling. We tried different scenarios, right side, left side, teeth, no teeth, laughing, chortling, hair swinging like during a fashion shoot, looking at the camera, looking out into the distance … you get the drift. Nothing helped. I still looked pained, and I was trying hard to look happy! I could actually feel my muscles move in my mouth to form a smile but the evidence proved otherwise. I looked concerned or constipated, I’m not sure which.

So, if you notice the new picture, regardless of how my mouth looks, just know this: I am happy. I was attempting to smile. I even tried to smile with my eyes. I was emoting with my whole being how much I enjoy writing this column.

Contact Patty at phannum@townandstyle.com.