Mirror, mirror on the wall: why I hate you most of all

I used to work in an office that had darkened windows. To people walking by, the windows were slightly mirrored and they couldn’t see inside.

I used to get such a kick out of the primpers. The people who strolled past our building fixing their hair, checking their teeth and adjusting their clothes in our windows—all the while oblivious to us giggling inside at their expense.

It’s something I’d never do. See, for me, there are safe mirrors and unsafe ones. Safe ones include the one in my bathroom and the compact in my purse. Safe mirrors do not include building windows, full-length mirrors in a department store or any other mirror that I happen to walk past unprepared. And you should see the way I manage to avoid looking at myself in the gym mirrors, despite my trainer telling me to check my form. Even then, I try to take in just the part I need to rather than the big picture.

I’m getting a little better. The mirror isn’t quite as scary as it used to be. But I promise you’ll never catch me as one of those mock-worthy primpers.

As I get past my mirror-fear (which also includes cameras. Of course, I’ve talked at-length about that already) I thought I’d share what might possibly be one of the scariest pictures of me ever. This is me yesterday, post cardio fusion. Note the tomato-red face (curses on my fair Irish/German skin), smeared eye makeup and sweat-stained shirt.

Though this doesn’t exactly show me at my loveliest, it does show me as someone who is working hard. And that, to me, makes it a picture I don’t mind seeing.