You’re a zebra, and you have the mind of a zebra.
I take a picture of you. It looks like a zebra with the mind of a zebra.
“This is a fine zebra,” casting directors will say, their cheeks rosy with excitement, “let’s put this zebra into our movie.”
You’re a zebra, but you have the mind of a flamingo.
I take a picture of you. It looks like a zebra with the mind of a flamingo.
“This is a fine zebra,” casting directors will say, “and we like the glint of flamingo. Let’s put this zebra into our movie where it will spend its time being stripey and running away from lions. Then suddenly we’ll dazzle the audience with it prancing about in a swamp … eating fish! … and then,” – their eyes glistening at this point – “then this zebra will go pink… and fly off!” The casting people high-five each other, go home early and eat fish fingers.
You’re a zebra, but you think you should look like a flamingo.
I take a picture of you. It looks like a constipated duck.
“This is a terrible picture,” you say, hitting me over the head with a rolled up copy of Flamingo Vogue. You take hold of my ear and pull it. “Photoshop it!” you shout, stabbing your finger at the monitor, “use the flamingo filter!”
I am really good at scenario #1 and #2. If you fit into scenario #3, go to the nearest mirror and say: “Me zebra. Zebra good. Flamingo also good, but me not flamingo.” Unless of course you are a flamingo. Which is fine, unless you are a flamingo who wants to be a dolphin, a swallow, or a ukulele.
When a casting director is looking for a flamingo, they want to see pictures of flamingos, and then they want to meet some flamingos. Not tigers or tulips. Accept that you’re a zebra, an oyster, an eagle! And you will soar, the sun will start shining like never before, and people will give you flowers on the street.
Batteries not included. May contain nuts.