The Toothpaste Fantasy

Apparently toothpaste does wonders on the skin. You'll be smelling minty fresh in no time. I imagine that at the time of my innocence, it was pure admiration I was paying to my father, who I'd watch occasionally shave in the mirror before going to work. I was in complete awe and temporary astonishment of how he took the razor to his skin, and his 5 o'clock shadow would disappear. I even took it upon myself to try it out; but it appears that I was caught in just enough time before I picked up the razor to shave my already shadow-less face. 


So here is where the toothpaste fantasy began. Up to my elbows in the white pasty goo. My mother or father photographed what looked like a crime scene. The criminal was a little over three feet tall,  curly hair in a ponytail, and a smile that could make the cracks in any frown fade. Convinced of the worst crime of all... Obliterating a tube of toothpaste. 
Punishment: a permenant photo of the crime that i'll be able to show my grandkids one day. 
The look of sheer joy was plastered across my face, and I was clearly having the time of my life.

What would this have looked like if I did not elaborate? You would've "Need[ed] to have [the] reality confirmed" (Sontag), due to the fact that "one never [truly] understands anything from a photograph" (Sontag).