|ME: Tell me the truth, Mirror, |
does my hair look okay?
MIRROR: Jesus Christ, you scared
the crap out of me! Can't you at least
warn me before you sneak up
and shove your face at me, woman?
I went to a dear friend's housewarming party on Saturday. Which I was very excited about, because not only is he a dear friend who just met a beautiful woman and bought a beautiful house, but hello, housewarming party! Housewarming parties are carte blanche to snoop through people's homes!
Because I love and respect this friend, I waited a full half hour before I started snooping on the pretext of having to use the bathroom.
And let me tell you, their bathroom freaked me out. There I was, in all my straightened hair and camouflage jeans finery, searching for the one thing that makes my life make sense: a mirror. Because in my home, mirrors are everywhere. On the backs of doors, in the living room where normal people would hang paintings, on the ceiling. Everywhere.
And yet in this bathroom ... no mirror. I kid you not when I tell you I started palpitating. I was like, "The hell? There's no mirror? My hair! I need to know what my hair looks like right now!" Then, just seconds before I had a full-on stroke, I spotted it: a mirror. A tiny, six-inch mirror mounted on a wall a good four feet away from its rightful place above the sink.
Wow, I thought. This woman my friend has moved in with, she's serious. She does not need to know what she looks like before she ventures out to face the world. She does not need a mirror to tell her that she is ready. She does not need to see the reflection of her face or her hair or her outfit to be validated.
That, I thought, must be what freedom feels like.
I long for the day I can be that free. To be that person who does not need a mirror to tell me I am okay.
EDITOR'S NOTE: *preens freshly botoxed testicles, snorts derisively* That day will never come, sister.
MY NOTE: Oops. So sorry. I accidentally just broke one of my 34 mirrors over your little pointed head.