Say Cheese

School Picture Day always promised greatness. You’d comb your hair, wear the shirt your mom swore was “nice,” and hope the photographer caught your good side. Instead, you got immortalized with a crooked smile, a zit glowing like a supernova, and a background that looked like the inside of a laser tag arena. And somewhere in the archives, that photo still exists.

Nachos know the feeling. They spend all morning getting ready — guac carefully dabbed into place, sour cream smoothed into perfect highlights, jalapeños arranged like accessories that scream “effortless.” They practice their best angles, making sure no chip sticks out weirdly or looks too greasy. But when the big moment comes and the camera flashes, it all falls apart.

The cheese sweats under the lights, salsa runs exactly where it shouldn’t, and one rogue chip manages to glare at the lens like it knows this is going to haunt it forever. The proof arrives weeks later: a glossy 8x10 of nachos that look less “photogenic” and more “mugshot.”

The nachos stare at their own picture and wince. The guac looks off-color, the sour cream blotched, the cheese stretched in ways that don’t flatter anyone. They wonder if maybe they should have tilted their chips differently, or smiled with less salsa. But the damage is done. That photo gets handed out, stuck in lockers, tucked into wallets — and every time it shows up, the nachos wish they could crawl back under the tray liner.

Because Picture Day isn’t about capturing perfection. It’s about cementing awkwardness forever. And in that sense, nachos nailed it.