I love staying in hotels, partly because the bathrooms usually contain a mounted, lighted mirror. This is handy for eyeglass wearers who need a boost for tasks like shaving or applying makeup.
My parents have a mounted, lighted mirror in their master bath. One side of the mirror has a magnification factor that I believe was developed in a government laboratory. It is chilling what this mirror can pick up. It shows each wisp of lanugo, every tributary of wrinkles, the lunar landscape of pores. This mirror delves into your soul.
During a recent visit, I pulled the mirror toward me and began my morning routine. It took me twice as long as I halted over shocking discoveries on my face. Is one eyebrow higher than the other? How can I have a freckle on my eyelid? Do I have a white nose hair?
Oh, the humanity.
This happened minutes before I had to go to work in a large office building. I now worried that there was some other unpleasant discovery that a colleague may spot during a meeting.
I thought about a train trip in Europe many years ago, a long debate with my seatmate, a young Spaniard who schooled me in [his take on] U.S. foreign policy. We spoke intently for many hours, as sun filled the coach, illuminating his eyelashes. We parted company; I walked to my hotel, feeling that particular joy of learning something foreign. I snapped on the light in the tiny bathroom and saw my face in the makeup mirror, with two horrifying chin whiskers, one pointing SSW and one pointing SSE.
Dios mio.
When did my face become one of those Magic Eye puzzles, inscrutable to me yet obvious to other onlookers? I asked myself the same question the second morning in my parents’ bathroom, tracing a pattern in the newly discovered age spots on my left cheek.
I broke away and finished putting on my makeup in front of a different mirror in the guest bedroom. Mercifully, it had less visibility. So my eyeliner veered off-path and my mascara wasn’t quite even.
At least my eyes matched my wonky eyebrows.
Georgia Confidential 