I stopped by my dad’s after school. I was surprised to see an interested crowd around his painter’s stand on the street.

A woman was screaming while pointing at the painting she was holding. “How do you call yourself a painter? My nose isn’t that big! Look at that! Also, I have curly hair. Why did you give me straight hair in the painting?”

She handed the painting over to my dad. “I’m not paying ten dollars for this thing when it’s not even worth ten pennies,” she said.

My dad is a street painter. He makes portraits of people for a fee. But, to be honest, he is not very talented so he finds himself in similar arguments pretty frequently. Most customers refuse to buy his portraits saying that it doesn’t look like them.

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