Kintropy In Action

Photo booths are small, especially with an active four-year-old in your arms.  They've changed some (the booths, that is), modernized, since my old Balboa Fun Zone days.  You can pick layouts, color, sepia, or black and white; you can also pay via debit card:  so convenient to spend $3.

Hannah and I stepped into this particular booth Sunday:  our daddy-daughter day out.  We had enjoyed lunch together at New Seasons, browsed Powell's Books, and explored the mall for a few minutes.  For years, when Gabriel was younger, he and I made regular journeys, both to satisfy my wanderlust and give Mom a break.  Now Hannah and I were renewing the same tradition.

Hannah, happy to be momentarily free of her wheelchair, sat in my lap and took a look around.  As I paid and chose options, the booth light came on, pulling Hannah's curiosity upward.

The booth counted down to taking its first shot.  Afterward, Hannah quickly shifted.  She looked at me expectantly.  I wasn't singing.  Singing is required.

Second picture.

Hannah likes an unobstructed view of my face:  the better to claw at my mouth, making it clear that it needed to move back and forth to produce music.  She snatched away my glasses.

Third picture.

Got the glasses.  What's the ceiling look like?

Fourth picture.

We stepped outside and waited for our pictures to print.  A minute later, we had our memory.  Wanted:  picture perfect day out (and some singing, please).

-- Dad