The brat as a photographer

The brat has a thing about clicking photographs. And more often than not his favoured subject is me. At any given point when the mobile if left unattended, you could bet your heirloom stamp collection on him crawling all over the place looking to click random pictures of me. Having said that, I find he clicks the best pictures of me, and have tried to analyse it. Is it the fact that he clicks me from a lower angle than the spouse does? The spouse, actually, when handed a camera and asked to click when one is all dressed up and pancaked will move his elbow maybe an inch above its resting position and click from whichever angle he happens to be at which is, on a regular basis, comatose in front of the television. That doesnt make for good angles, nor for good photographs. Add to it the great reluctance with which he takes the camera from one's hand, or snaps irritably when asked politely to please click my divine self, grumble for the first few seconds about the need to preserve my image in posterity before condescending to actually getting activated to do the necessary clicking. And then refuse to do second shots if the first doesn't come out too good, which of course it doesn't and will inevitably feature me with the fan above at ceiling level looking like a lopsided halo, or be clicked at just the right angle to make me look even more pyramidical than I am, with all the multiple chins and stomachs in full view.
The brat on the flip, will fuss around, move himself here and there in a bid to get a good angle, ask me to turn to face him, exhort me to flash them pearly yellows, tell me I'm looking priddy and click and then decide it isn't good enough and click again. And again, and again till he gets something he is satisfied with. Sometimes he goes on a total rampage and clicks me looking like the Axe Murderer, or when I sleep drugged and can barely leverage the lids of my eyelids open or worse still when I am eating, making me out to be a competitor at them Guinness Record type things.

And then show his work of art to me for praise and show it all round for appreciation. It is rather flattering. And it is a sign of times changing that this reminds me of courtship days when the spouse would finish an entire roll of film (what? We were young in the days when one had to buy a roll of film, put it into a camera and click, and then unwind the damn film, trot across to a photography studio where the damn prints would be made, and die chewing our nails about how the pictures would turn out until we got them prints with the mandatory photo album after a couple of days) just clicking me at shutter speeds that weren't meant for the instamatic camera in his hand.
I guess I should enjoy being the focus of the brat's viewfinder until a girlfriend comes on the scene, right?