A Day in the life of the Bathroom mirror

“Oh, NO! There’s that clock”, says the mirror, “here they come!” In seconds, bright light illuminates the room, sparkling off the mirrors flat face.
The man ignore it as he reaches sleepily for a washcloth, razor and shaving foam. Hot water steams the shining surface as he washes his face. Using the wash cloth, he wipes the mist from the glass, then fills his hand with thick foam as he begins his daily routine. Lathering the thick cream over his face, he grimaces at the mirror. Picking up the razor, he begins to glide it over his cheeks, neck and chin, alert to the contours he feels.

Now, he reaches for his denture cup, pouring out the overnight solution. Paste on the toothbrush, he cleans the partial plate, rinses it, then begins again with toothpaste on his remaining teeth, splashing the mirror with toothpaste and water as he does it. Another rinse and the partial is fitted in his mouth and a smile reflects back at him.

Five or six strokes of the comb through his thinning hair and he walks off, ready to face the day.

The woman of the house follows, wrapped in a cocoon of terry cloth, still dripping a bit from the shower. She ducks down to return with a blow dryer in hand. the view is of one possessed as she wields the buzzing dryer in one hand and a hairbrush with the other, coaxing the unruly wet mop into a semblance of order.

She notices the spattered face of the mirror and reaches down again, coming up with a spray bottle. A spritz or two, a swipe with a towel restores a clear view.

She puts away the brush dryer, glass cleaner, denture cup, shaving cream and razor. With a frown, she winces as a slight tug removes the offending gray hair. Rushing, time is short, a dash of blush, a squirt of perfume and she is away.

There comes a lull, then invasion as two young ladies rush in, scattering make-up and hair products across the counter. After Quick work with soap, water and toothbrushes, they start the real preperations. Giggles, chatter and a short argument punctuate the transformation of one fresh washed face into a white mask with black eyes and lips. Teased hair is semi-tamed with a pick and liberally coated with pink and blue sprays. Stiff hair, stark faced, she studies the look. A satisfied nod says she is ready to go out to face her day.

The second, conforming to a different fashion ideal, brushes her long straight hair, places a colorful barrette, examines then adjusts. A touch of lip gloss, a hint of blooming color on her cheeks. One can hardly tell anything has been added. These two finish their work, pack up their supplie and move along.

Here’s the boy, dirty faced, called in from play even this early in the day. He splashed some cold water over his face, creating streaks in the dirty film. Splattering muddy drops all around as he shakes murky liquid off like a wet puppy, he grins flexing minute muscles. then checks for signs of adolescence, is that a pimple? Does it look like a few whiskers? No toothpaste for him, swishing Scope instead, contorting his face. Then he attempts to spit, imitating his favorite baseball star.

With a furtive glance, he picks a towel from the hamper, smearing muddy drops, and towel fuzz across the reflection. He skitters out, returning seconds late to douse himself liberally with his father’s aftershave, once again rushing away.

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