Reflections

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My bed is next to my closet and the doors of the closet are all mirrors. So, nearly every morning, I wake up and the first thing I see is my own reflection. And let me tell you, it’s a sobering way to start the day.

 Now, to be sure, there are some days that I see my reflection and my eyes are all full of sleep and haze and I think, “Damn. Look how cute I am!”

 But most days, I see my cheeks sagging pillow-ward, my breasts sliding precipitously into the mattress, and my stomach (when I’ve kicked off the covers) looking like dough that’s risen past the confines of the pan. And I think, “Damn! What the hell happened to you?”

 So, every day, I look into the mirror, but only accidentally. These days, the only time I gaze at myself on purpose is in the magnifying mirror to make sure my eyeliner hasn’t gone astray.

 I remember when my daughter was young, she looked into the mirror, then looked at me to confirm, “I’m pretty, Mama.” And yes, I would agree, she was pretty. But the self-sabotaging reflection of age has struck even my daughter. The other day, she texted me, “I used to be a lot hotter than I am now, and I had no idea.”

 And I replied, “Honey, that will happen throughout your life…still happens to me.”

 After a second, she texted back, “That’s stupid.”

 Yes. Yes it is. And tomorrow when I wake up staring at my reflection, I’m going to remember that.

girl-at-mirror-1954.jpg!Blog

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