.08

I was hired to take pictures at one of those Upper East Side birthday soirées. The guest of honor was turning 13. She yelled at me to take at least 30 pictures of her designer outfit, "and one of them better be good enough for Instagram!"

Her mom organized and controlled the party with all the power of the pentagon, crushing disturbances under her pointy high heels in a millisecond. 

I stayed out of her way.

The birthday girl was given a black diamond bracelet and a walk on role for some Disney Channel TV show. I snapped picture after picture and tried not to throw up my gourmet lettuce wrap.

It was a nice distraction, but I swore I'd be better than 13 year old birthday parties, celebrating rich, bratty kids.

What happened to me?