Selfie Sticks and the Single Mom

Selfie Sticks and the Single Mom

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Who knew that updating a profile picture would be so challenging?

Of course it started with a dating site.

I’d been man-free for too long. It was time to return from my mancation, take the vajay out of hibernation, and get back online.

But alas, my photos were out of date—as in four years of online dating and I’m still single out of date! I needed a current profile: The blurb part was easy, as nothing in my life had changed. The photos? Not so easy. Things had changed (sigh). It was time for an up-to-date head shot, full-body shot, sexy shot, and requisite sporty pic.

It gets worse.

When I looked for recent pictures, I couldn’t find any . . . because I didn’t have any . . . because I’m a single mom and there is nobody to take pictures of me. No partner to say, “Honey, stand in front of that statue so I can grab a shot of you and remember forever the intense love I feel at this exact moment.” Nobody to take that close-up of me smelling a rose, gazing at a butterfly, or laughing pixie-like while looking just like Gwyneth Paltrow.

Nobody to sneak the sexy bedroom shot, right after we’ve awoken from a night of sweet, sweet lovin’, where I’m sans makeup but with perfect skin, sans baby fat and with a perfect bod, and my negligee and face have no wrinkles.

I got depressed. I got in bed with Ben & Jerry.

In my room, late at night, I secretly tried taking selfies. SNAP. SNAP. SNAP. But when I put on my glasses to admire the end result, it was horror: brown spots, cellulite, the pores on my face like the surface of Mars, and my eyebrows had gone rogue. Not only did I not have anyone to take my picture, but I was getting old.

I got back in bed with Ben & Jerry.

I asked my kids to take photos of me. WARNING: If your child is 12 years old or older, do not do this (especially if you have a girl). It will only make you feel like shit.

If you have a boy, you will be met with a whiny and embarrassed, “Moommm,” and maybe an off-center, out-of-focus photo because he rushed to take it . . . so his friends wouldn’t see him taking a picture of his mom.

If you have a daughter and dare to intervene on her own selfie bender to ask her to take a photo of YOU, she will most likely roll her eyes, click her tongue, and reluctantly agree. (I love you, girls, but making us moms feel like crap is your superpower.)

She will unenthusiastically grab your phone from your quivering hands and hold it up. You will not know how to pose and will feel like an ass.

You: What do I do?

Her: I don’t know. You’re the one who wanted the picture.

You: How about this? Do I look OK?

Her: Ugh. Fine, I guess.

You: For Christ’s sake, I just wanted a picture of myself.

Her: I don’t know what you want from me!

You: Something that makes me look pretty.

(Note: This is getting ugly.)

Her: Why?

You: Because I want it. Just take the freaking picture.


You: Never mind! Give me the goddamn phone back!

She does—and then stomps into her room, slams the door, and proceeds to FaceTime her friends, talk about boys, and take more selfies.

You, on the other hand, again crawl into bed with Ben & Jerry.

I thought to myself, What if there is a dude out there who’d want to take my picture? How will I ever know? I can’t go online to find him . . . because I don’t have profile pictures.

It was a chicken and egg–type scenario.

My married friend Melissa had recently changed her Facebook profile photo to one taken on her family’s vacation in Mexico. In it, she wore a bathing suit and a big sun hat. Her figure looked great, her face, amazing: sexy, classic—like Audrey Hepburn. She was 50. She was hot. And she knew it. I thought to myself, I wish I had a husband to take that sort of photo of me.

A week later, Melissa and I took our daughters to dinner. Her husband was busy, and I . . . well, I didn’t have a husband. We watched our girls selfie-out between bites of their $20-a-piece wedge salads. I could no longer contain my secret sadness, my ever-aching pain at not having any photos of myself, and my crippling loss of ability to online date because of it. So I told Melissa.

Her response? “Hell, Evan hasn’t taken my picture in over 10 years. When I ask my kids, they roll their eyes and make me feel like shit.”

Wait, what? Married women go through this as well?

Then she gave me the golden ticket: “Buy a selfie stick! I did. So did my cousin. We all have selfie sticks. We take pictures of ourselves!”

Yes, that beautiful Facebook shot from Mexico was taken by none other than Melissa herself—and her selfie stick. “It took about 100 shots, but I got one!”

I ordered one that night—with a Bluetooth remote!

I had to ask my son how to use it. “Mooooom . . . ”

So I asked my daughter how to use it. Eye roll and tongue click.

Finally, I asked a dude friend. He knew how to use it. He’s a dude.

Then I asked him to kiss me and take a picture with the selfie stick. I wanted to see what I looked like being kissed.

So he did.

The picture looked hot.

Suddenly, he did as well. . . .

And maybe I didn’t go to bed with Ben & Jerry that night.


Note: Selfie sticks cost around $20, and this is the photo! Hee hee . . .

P. Charlotte Lindsay is a middle-aged Solo Mom. She shares her newfound expertise as a user of a dating app that can help you meet guys, get laid, and maybe even find love. She is a real person, though her name has been changed to protect the innocent, namely her children and parents. You can follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Please feel free to contact us with any comments or questions.

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