“Salmonella.”

That was my first thought when Anna started to fall towards the lake.

I’m not exactly sure why, but I’m suspicious it has something to do with a profound ignorance of diseases and their various methods of transmittal.

My second thought was, “should I try and save her?”

At this point there’s no purpose served in assigning fault, though it clearly lies at Anna’s feet.

When I suggested she come with Lindsey and me on our trespassing-and-taking-photos jaunt, she agreed. When I had Lindsey pull over by the lake and told Anna to walk down along the edges of said lake, she walked. When I told her to jump up and down while precariously perched on the water’s edge, she jumped.

I mean, really Anna, that’s a whole series of bad decisions.

To be honest, I never actually considered trying to save her.

I could offer excuses like “I’m actually less coordinated than Anna so it wouldn’t be to either of our benefits for me to join the falling” or “it seemed like she was doing fine on her own.”

But really, there is only one real reason why I didn’t even contemplate setting my bag aside and reaching for her hand – I was in the middle of taking photos.

And anyone could fall in that lake.

But I was the only one holding a camera to photograph that fall.

I’m not completely heartless.

Though I’d warned Anna that one can only properly trespass when wearing an evening gown, she’d arrived in my driveway clad in a pair of bluejeans.

I let her borrow one of mine, the dress she’s wearing in the above photo, and I was totally okay with having to dry clean off the lake germs should it get submerged.

(I’m all heart.)

(Well from what I remember from 8th grade science I’m 70% water.)

(But I’m sure that last 30% is all heart.)

It turns out Anna didn’t need my help at all – she somehow regained her balance, leaving me bereft of any splash photos.

And when I suggested she continue jumping up and down she decided not to obey me, thus learning a valuable lesson in the power of no and photo shoot expectations.