My mirror and are at war. After years of mutual admiration, it has committed the ultimate betrayal. Oh, I should have seen it coming. There were warning signs, a wrinkle here, a gray hair there, but I naively excused its little transgressions. Stray gray hairs could be plucked and the shallow wrinkle aside my eye hid nicely under makeup. Problem fixed! I never saw this coming; the day I went to my old friend for a boast of confidence, the kind you’d expect from a friend, and to my horror, the face of an old woman stared back at me. Liar! Cheat! What have you done? I am not old. I am still that young innocent woman with just a little more experience. Experience builds character not wrinkles! Right?
The mirror and I share a long history. We became fast friends when I first recognized myself as the image in the glass. We began our friendship by making faces at each other as children often do en route to becoming friends. My new companion fascinated me with its backward vision of the world. We happily entertained each other for hours. Mirror complimented my imagination. It served as a movie screen for all my little dramas. When we played dress up in mother’s clothing, mirror transformed adult nightdresses into royal gowns fit for a prince's ball. My comrade spirited me away to royal palaces and beyond in pumpkin coaches. Oh the hours of make-believe we shared! Back then we magically transformed our world; no betrayals ever.
Later, mirror became my confidant as the adolescent preened and practiced for the world of dating and complicated relationships. “Mirror, do you like my hair over the ear or behind?” I valued its judgment; my trusted ally!
Over the years we continued to work well together. I learned from my friend what clothing and styles best complimented my form, and if I paid good attention, the results of my fashion experiments always pleased me. Good old mirror, my tried and true friend; or so I thought.
In an attempt to deny my friend’s treachery, I impulsively dyed my graying locks, slathered “miracle” creams all over my skin and used great quantities of anti-aging makeup. That appeased mirror for a while, but not for long. In revenge, I stopped preening as much, but whenever I returned, that old face still looked back. I never dreamed the day would come when I could no longer rely on my life-long companion; the day when camouflages stopped working.
I began to avoid my friend. If I didn’t see the old lady, then I remained the youngster I always had been. I’d teach that backstabbing piece of glass!
Eventually, I replaced my former partner in fantasy with a new relationship. Pen, paper and the computer have become my new best friends. Together, we lose ourselves in imaginary worlds of our creation, become anything we dream. If I don't like it, I erase and begin again. No more betrayals!
The mirror hangs there with cannons loaded waiting, calling. I won’t look!
PS: Do you remember the story of Snow White? I have a lot of compassion for the wicked step mother and her mirror issues.
