As I mentioned, we moved to a new state. This means we also moved to a new house.
Our new (to us) house was last decorated in the 1980s when pink and light blue were the only paint colors available.
We’ve slowly been painting, but there are several rooms that remain untouched.
Like our bathroom. It’s pink. And I don’t mean retro, cool, 1950s save-the-pink-bathrooms pink. I mean 1980s-goose-curtains pink.
The bathroom also came with a swing out magnifying mirror that is mounted on the wall.
I have not seen a magnifying mirror since my wedding day.
I had just finished getting ready, veil stapled to my head and all, and I bent down to look in my aunt’s magnifying mirror. (Technically, my husband’s aunt. My aunt-in-law? Is that what people say? Sounds weird.)
She yelled at me in fear.
She said, “If you look in there you’ll never be ready!” and also, “Never look in those mirrors before something important!”
I looked anyway. Everything looked fine. Just closer. I shrugged. I was ready. Wedding level ready.
Fast forward more than a decade to today…
I take a step closer to the magic mirror. I carefully pull it out from the wall.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
I look in, expecting to see that everything was still fine, just closer.
Instead, I see:
An alien invasion.
My skin is the surface of a post-apocalyptic planet.
There are canyons and riverbeds and volcanoes!
I see nose hair sticking out like the bristly hairs of a caterpillar.
Who is that old woman staring back at me and what has she done with my face?
My face has been abducted by aliens. What the hell? This means war.
I pick. I poke. I pluck. I prod. I pop. I extract. I scrape. I squeeze.
I do every single thing you are not supposed to do to your skin according to Teen Magazine, which I read when I was 12.
After 20 minutes, my skin looks amazing in the mirror! All clean!
I walk away, convinced that I’ve won the battle.
Only to get a glimpse of myself in the regular mirror on the way out of the bathroom.
Thankfully, this wasn’t before anything important so I have plenty of time to let my skin heal.
Yes, I know it’s bad for my skin. I’ve known since I was 12, remember? I won’t do it again, Teen Magazine. (I was much more of a Sassy sort of girl anyway.)
If you find gross skin stuff (blackheads, pimples, etc.) very satisfying (83% of the population does!) check out Dr. Pimple Popper on YouTube. I won’t link to it because the other 17% of you will probably barf. Only the brave should look this up. This is the sort of weirdness I find myself watching at 1AM and asking myself, “How did I get here?” If you do it, at least you can blame me.