Friends no longer
It used to be my friend.
In my twenties, I used it to apply all of my makeup on the way to work. It gave me fifteen extra minutes of sleep, which I sorely needed after hitting the downtown bars with friends the night before.
After I had Tyler in my early thirties, the makeup mirror let me see what that little rodent was doing. Had he lost his pacifier? Dumped the cheerios? Usually that mirror could help me stop the screaming.
And now, pushing forty, that mirror is scaring the hell out of me. I opened it today while driving and two chin hairs wagged at me. And I plucked one yesterday!
Worse, when I got home I couldn’t even find the hairs on my chinny chin chin.
That damn makeup mirror is taunting me. Either I’m growing a beard or I’m going crazy.
I vote for crazy.
Okay. More crazy.
I really don’t want to have to start shaving something else.