My right to privacy

There's some sort of art-type festival going on down the street from me. Every twenty feet or so, another painter has his or her easel set up as they paint a scene from one of the many busy storefronts.

As I walked past each, I was sure to hold my hands up over my face. A friend asked me why I was doing this, and I told him it was because I didn't want my face seen in any of the paintings.

I have rights too, you know.