I used to have the anxiety on Picture Day. My mom would press my hair the night before; curl it with those spongy pink rollers; put an old pair of pantyhose on my head; and in the morning voila! I'm a-ma-zing. This routine was a direct result of the patient love and care that my mother put into tomboys who she hoped would not fail her; providing awesome photos that could be sent to grandparents and godparents alike.
The anxiety came because I had to make a choice to either stick with the program or let her down. And for some reason, my class always had the photo slot right after recess or PE. I distinctly recall standing in my tights and dress, suppressing my urge to chase the boys on the playground. In a month or so, sleeves filled with 8x10s, 5x7s, and 3x5s would soon uncover if my ability to keep it together actually worked.