Dear Mirror,

I recognize you are only doing your job, but maybe we should reevaluate your job description. You were purchased to help with the random eyebrow hairs, putting in my contacts, and zit popping. That was it. Sure, sometimes your role included aiding in makeup application, but we both know how infrequently that happens.

We began on good terms. You did your job; I did mine. But things changed. I now see tiny broken blood vessels, clogged pores, grey hairs, and a mustache I didn’t know I had. Not fair. You were supposed to tell me I’m “The Fairest of Them All,” and I was supposed to believe it. Now I feel you laughing at the aging woman you see in your face’s reflection.

We still need each other, so we have to find a way to get along. Here is my proposal.

I will only look into your bright orb without my contacts in place. You will show me an airbrushed version of myself with a few minor tweaks. I still want to be able to take out the tweezers and do some good, but I don’t want you to show me all the work at once. Leave some of those long blond ones to the imagination, will ya? Eventually, I will find them, but this all-or-nothing attitude you have is grating on me.

I want to know when my pores are clogged when they need a good squeeze, but my hands are tired from all you show me. Let’s limit our daily outtake to, let’s say, seven immediate areas of concern and leave the rest to fester until you can no longer look into my face and see beauty. Twenty-four hours should do it, then we can go in for another round.

You will stop showing me grey hair. Period. And anything purple. Unless purple eyeshadow makes a comeback akin to the fanny pack (how is this happening BTW?), purple is a colour that we will agree to unsee.

In exchange for these concessions, I will recharge your battery, take you on holiday, leave you on prominent display with your view out the window. You will stay shiny and inviting, and I will not dump you in a landfill.

This is not an idle conversation. You see my war-torn face and know that this is not the mug of a pansy willing to be bullied by technology. You will stand down.

Do we have a deal?

Love,

The Fairest of Them All (or at least of all the people who use you.)

Kristine Laco
Author

Kristine Laco shares the stories we all have with a splash of sarcasm, a pinch of bitch and a ton of wine at Adulting In Progress dot com. Her middle finger is her favourite and she lives by the motto that if you are not yelling at your kids, you are not spending enough time with them. She takes selfies at the gyno. Taco Tuesday is her gospel. Reality TV is real folks. She is making turning 50 a job because she doesn't have one.

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