Thoughts while avoiding the mirror

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Stare into my dark glasses. You are getting very sleepy…very sleepy…ignore the hair…ignore the hair…

 

What does the fecund human see when s/he looks in the mirror?  

He sees a fit, handsome man regardless of the fat layers. He runs a comb or brush through his hair and smiles at the reflection. She ignores the comely curves in her dress, obsessing over the small mole at the side of her nose she has to squint to see. And, if she’s fat she thinks she’s fatter than she really is. I have unfortunately been privy to conversations where the rotund man is more than willing to feed a nice looking woman’s insecurities. It makes you want to run up and say, “Don’t listen to the fat guy!” He would probably look around the room and say, “Fat guy? Where?” Then, I would have to laugh.

As you can imagine, I’m not invited to very many parties. One of the things about getting older is that life is too short to suffer assholes.

Still there are times I fall prey to early childhood conditioning and wonder…what if I
–wore a girdle
–bought a dress costing more than $10
–bought a pair of spike heels
–had plastic surgery
–lost weight
–gained weight
–hired a personal trainer
–relearned how to apply makeup
…would it make any difference? Then I imagine my face in bandages as I lift weights while wearing stilettos and a $100 dress. That’s enough to frighten the hair off a gorilla.

Is there really a single human on this Earth worth going to the trouble to spend 3 hours in front of a mirror just to project a lie? Why in the hell would I go to that much trouble each day? If people don’t like me as a common spruce, why would they like me any better trussed up like a Christmas tree? Underneath all the lights and frills, I’d still be a spruce. My basic personality is a mix between hydrochloric acid and a rabid dog. As much as I’d like to think it’s possible, plastic surgery can’t do a whole lot to change that.

The truth is, women are required to do a lot more to enter into adulthood than men. I suppose in the US, we’re fortunate it only requires shaving your legs, a pair of stiletto heels, a Mary Kay lady, a bra and a short skirt. Though stiletto’s are the modern equivalent of foot binding, in some countries razors aren’t for shaving legs.

Female Genital mutilation is a centuries old way to ensure a painful death for a percentage of the female population in the middle east and Africa. Those who survive it are guaranteed never to have fun in bed, and many women die giving birth because nature knows more about female genitalia than some smelly village woman with a rusty razor.

So then, what do I see when I look in the mirror?  I used to look in the mirror and see my college ID photo and, later, the abysmal picture on my driver’s license.  Now I look in the mirror only long enough  to part my hair.   If you don’t like the way I part it, then don’t look at me.