Young at Heart: Mirror, mirror, on the wall

MIRROR mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?

“Certainly not you, old girl,” it truthfully replies!

Mirrors are a part of our lives, from the time we very small girls practised with all Mum’s lipsticks, or little boys posed for the famous football stance to make their muscles as large as possible. 

Mirrors have a life of their own, I have long discovered.

There are dress shops I enter that have cleverly managed to design changing rooms where the sylph-like appearance I yearn for can almost be attained. 

There are other dress shops I enter where I know that my need for that particular item of clothing overwhelms the look I present in the mirror. In that case, when I’m sensible (not always I confess), I take things home on approval and ask my own mirror.

As Mark Twain said in his novel Notebook, “There are no grades of vanity, there are only grades in concealing it.”

Hence the hopeful shopping expeditions to improve that grading.

The mirror in the bedroom of our new home is wonderful. 

It is a simple, unadorned piece stuck on the wall and because it is a slimline model it gives me a similar pretence. I love it!  

Our new home includes a spacious gleaming en-suite with large mirrors along one wall and bright lights which cheerfully enhance every wrinkle being displayed.

There is a glamorous looking shower recess with two-sided glass walls, all of which look magnificent when one walks through the door... that is, until you actually have a shower.

We left behind an unadorned bathroom which served its purpose for all practical needs and I was thus content.

Rob and I could throw a party in this new shower recess alone, if that was our want, which thankfully it is not.  

I’m not sure whether it wouldn’t end up as an all-in brawl over the soap, the shampoo and the shower hose.

Now, let me assure you, there is nothing wrong with this shiny new shower recess, but rather what the mirrors directly opposite display.

I am swanning around in this new en-suite, and the vision... did I say “vision”...which greets me from this shower recess as I look over to my right-hand side, is not one I would choose to share with anyone.

Is that me? No it can’t be me!

I haven’t seen myself in quite such detail for years. It is really a rather discomforting sight. 

I have never had a large mirror in our bathroom, and suddenly I am presented with what is definitely another view of the body beautiful. 

I count some lovely men (and women) among our good friends in Bendigo, so there is no way I am about to describe what I see before me, but sufficient to say even dimming the lights wouldn’t in any way enhance it. 

The term “for better or for worse” comes to mind, which I guess  my husband  may well mutter to himself, although he would probably admit that there are flaws in his body beautiful these days, too, if he is the gentleman I like to believe he is.

The reality of my ancestry is short Irish peasant stock, and tragically for me that look remains until my next life. 

We are what our parents were, although I know the latest generation are taller at least. 

My 12-year-old grandson towers over me. His shoe size is 13!

In that next life I will be tall, lithe and ever so willowy.  

But until then, my mirrors will tell me the truth and that I must live with. 

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