The Perfect Picture

One day at my parents house, I noticed that a rather large cabinet filled with fine china was slowly sliding down the wall.



I alerted my dad.

We decided that the best immediate course of action was to grab bricks from outside and stack them under the cabinet's wooden frame to keep it from sliding completely off the wall.

My mom didn't take the news so well.

It was fun.

My aunt came over to help prepare for the party. Because I was conned into serving as the wait staff, she gave me a very thorough lesson about how to pour the champagne.

We made sure to warn my aunt not to go too near the cabinet because it could fall on her.

A little while later, I decided to document the festivities by snapping some pre-party pictures.



I approached my aunt, who was in the kitchen where the cabinet was. I asked her to smile for the camera. She held up her hands and flashed a big grin.

I pressed down the shutter button. There is a slight delay on many cheap digital cameras between pressing the button and an actual picture being taken. In that brief instant, someone on the other side of the kitchen dropped a pan, which clattered loudly onto the ground. Because my aunt had been warned about the possibility of the cabinet crashing down upon her, she immediately assumed this was what was happening. With a look of sheer terror, she turned to the cabinet, waved her hands frantically, and screamed loudly. That's exactly when the camera snapped the picture.

She was so far away from the cabinet.

I captured the best picture I will ever take: pure, honest terror of impending death on my aunt's face. Every once in a while, I like to dig around on my dad's computer, find the photo, and email it to everyone in the family. My aunt really appreciates it.