You have no idea how hard this was.
It took hours, and tremendous patience.
I had to sit still basically the entire time. Plus I had to go to the bathroom for, like, half of it. At least my mom got to move around while she painted me.
Hundreds of years from now they’ll probably find my mom’s painting tucked away in some hidden corner of the globe. The art world will deem it a masterpiece and it will be displayed at the Louvre, where tourists and art lovers will come to gawk at my mug day after day. They’ll name it “Boy in Maroon” or something, and my mom’s art will be the stuff of legend.
Critics and historians will question the expression on my face, trying to decipher what exactly was going through my mind at the time. They’ll call it “contemplative”, or “enigmatic”, and my face will be debated at great length among high-art circles.
If this website survives until that time, I want those people to know that I was just trying to remain calm until I could finally go pee.