I love how terrified infants look exactly like a walk-on cameo from Alfred Hitchcock’s House of the Young. Particularly if Hitchcock dressed in an adorable little pink number with a high Empire waist. No-one can look shocked, indeed fatally affronted, like a 60-year-old Southern woman or a baby. Or Hitchcock…but.
But something is obviously terrifying this little girl. What is it? What could possibly so disturb an infant that she won’t sit still for an “adorable baby” photo besides, of course, loud noises, soft noises, sudden shifts in the Dow-Jones index, the photographer, or Wednesdays?
Holy shit. It’s Easter.
For the love of god, little girl! Wiggle! Wiggle like you’ve never wiggled before! Easter’s cresting the pillow and there’s murder–or chocolate eggs–in its eyes!
I actually walked right by this until my partner said “you know, you missed the Easter bunny about to eat a little girl in the art bin.” And, yeah, there she was, and there Easter was. Frankly, I feel this way about any major holiday. Thanksgiving, in particular, likes to wait until you’re in a state of false security before leaping–“You thought I was celebrated on the weekend, didn’t you?!?”
So parents: keep your children away from stealthy rainbow bunnies this Easter–or you’ll be paying for therapy 15 years later.
Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin