I don't like having my picture taken. If a picture is worth a thousand words, there are millions of words available to show why I don't like it.

Because I believe in doing unto others as I would have them do unto me, I don't take pictures. My husband is the family photographer. John puts the "am" in amateur photographer and loves taking candid pictures.

My definition of a candid picture is one taken without permission or premeditation. Candid pictures of kids are cute. Candid pictures of adults usually aren't.

Adults need time to put down the cake or the glass of wine. We need time to show our good side, if we still have one. We need to pull in our tummies, check our hair - or get out of range of the camera.

John now has a digital camera. Gone are the days when I could hope he'd run out of film or I could sabotage negatives that were ... negative.

Yes, John's camera has a delete button; but he doesn't always agree with me about which pictures are destined for deletion. I try to choose photos for our albums that are both representative and flattering. If John chose the photos, we'd have a photo library.

For awhile I had a digital picture frame. The idea was that family and friends would electronically send me pictures. Unfortunately, most of the pictures were sent by John - from his office to mine - one flight of stairs away. I appreciated the thought, but I was in almost every picture. Then I put the frame in John's office, hoping in vain that he'd get the picture that I didn't want to look at my picture.

As I get older, I appreciate pictures more. When I get a new picture of a family member or a friend I've already framed - legally speaking - I put it on top of the previous pictures. Looking at the previous pictures is like turning back the clock.

Although I don't want to be reminded of how I used to look, I occasionally make myself grin - but not bare it - for John's camera. I want future generations to see from whom they inherited their good looks, their charisma and their delusions.