"Just look at the camera for a.... there we go."

Watching Bridget Jones on my next door neighbour's telly (just kidding that is not a real word I would use, although I'm all about "chunder" to mean "vomit") last week I realized that its eponymous heroine lives right around the corner from my house. Mainly this lead me to consider why, despite the millions of times I have embarrassed myself in the area through "charming" Bridget Jones-y mishaps (falling, clothing malfunctions, a general lack of awareness regarding British traffic directions, etc.), I have not been asked on a date by a beautiful-if-horrible Hugh Grant type and then rescued from that terrible relationship by beautiful-and-perfect Colin Firth. Not the type, just the man himself.

And then I realized that I carry the reason in my wallet.

... wasn't that so suspenseful?? I am getting good at writing these so that you HAVE to click on the post. As a reward for being such an intrepid reader (Mom and co., keep up the great work), you are now going to be taken on a tour of why Mr. Darcy remains at bay. MY ID CARDS.

I mean, look at these things. They were all taken on different days, and they are all soul-crushingly hideous in their own ways. My first few weeks in London were punctuated by a few different opportunities for incredibly unflattering photos, and these are some of the worst. While I recognize (and pray nightly to Jesus) that I do not look like this in real life usually, it is a pretty huge bummer to have to present them to people, and surely must be taking a devastating toll on my self esteem. Right?

EXHIBIT A:

Just a studious Justin Bieber-esque lad off for a day at the BL. He looks tired.

EXHIBIT B:

I was being "chatted up" while in line for this photo at the library. We were talking about how terrible ID photos inevitably are, and then as a cuuuuuute joke we decided to compare ours. Before I had looked at this. I did not get asked for my number.

EXHIBIT C:

This one is just not even my fault.1) I am never getting my bangs "professionally" trimmed again, and 2) I ASKED THE MAN taking this if it looked okay. I should have used a more specific adjective, but I still think he is a liar.

Thank God I am going home to Canada in 10 days where the straight men dress poorly and the accents don't ramp people up ten points on the hot scale as soon as anyone opens their mouth. Although, there is the small matter of my passport photo...

Serial killer with a comb-over and no eyebrows to speak of? I'll take it.