Magnifying Mirrors

Today I am grateful for magnifying mirrors. . .grateful. . .and terrified of them!

I can’t see well enough in a regular mirror to pluck my eyebrows or anything else that needs plucking, picking, removing or camouflaging on my face anymore.  If I get close enough to use a tool, then I’m blurry.  I prefer myself blurry.  I don’t have wrinkles, blurry.  I don’t have age-spots, blurry.  My hair is still brown, blurry.  My teeth are as white as the damned snow that won’t leave, blurry.  If I could smear myself with Vaseline like filmmakers do on a camera lens for soft-focus, I’d do it.  Blurry works for me.

Note to the younger generation.  That gorgeous hair you have on your head will thin and turn to kaa-kaa before you know it.  The loss of hair on your head will be compensated for with twine growing out of your chin!  Wait for it.  Remember this day, because you WILL be there in the future.  It’s not a curse, it’s a given.  Really.  Sorry to be the bearer of this news.  Bottom line is I can’t pluck it if I can’t see it and not plucking it is unacceptable.  I tried putting glasses on but couldn’t get a tool close to my brows and nearly poked out an eyeball trying.  So I relented and got a magnifying mirror. 

I took the tweezers, scissors, plucking-face-changing-repair kit, the hateful mirror and my aging self to the kitchen table, where the sun was coming in brightly.  Wow could I see!  I don’t know who in the hell that was in that mirror, but it sure wasn’t me!  I do NOT look like that.  I don’t have rogue WHITE eyebrow hairs twisting into the wind like mutant corkscrews.  I don’t have the same wrinkles my mom has because she’s old and I’m NOT!  No way was I asking this thing, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”  I didn’t want it laughing and shouting, “Well it sure as hell ain’t you, bitch!”  By the time I was done “grooming” I felt like a show dog ready for the ring, except I wasn’t as obedient.  But I sure could have used a treat, even a liv-a-snap!

I didn’t smash the evil thing in the driveway.   I wanted to, but who needs seven years of bad luck when you’ve already seen what the last seven (and more) years of just plain living can do to one face?  Not me.  I’m grateful for the magnifying mirror.  But only when I look like a yak on testosterone, will I pull it out of the pillowcase where I hide it, and not a minute before.