Mirrors and Photographs

For at least a decade I have avoided mirrors. Or looking glasses, as Nancy Mitford would have said (she deemed the word 'mirror' frightfully infra dig. Along with toilet, serviette and fish knives).

I would hate it when a mirror snuck up on me unawares. I'd suddenly be confronted by my image and think "when did my mother get so fat? Yikes! It's me. Look away you fool, before you're turned to stone...."

If I knew a mirror was coming I could prepare. I'd suck my cheeks in, angle the head to avoid double chinnage and suck in the belly.

#1 calls this my 'scary mirror face', and says it looks nothing like me.

I hate photos even more.

Until the age of around 33 (when #1 was born), there were loads of photos of me. SM partying, SM hugging Mr SM (and his predecessors), even SM on various beaches topless!

Last ten years? Barely a single picture. All erased at infancy. I've been as merciless as Herod. Thank god for digital technology! One click and ppppffff....gone.

So our last decade of family albums show Mr SM, the heroic single father of 3. Or they would if photo albums hadn't been one of the activities that went by the wayside in favour of drinking.

Anyhow, a couple of days ago I went to the supermarket with #3. Once we'd finished and paid up I wheeled the laden trolley towards the lift. #3 pressed the button and the doors opened.

The lift was already occupied by a lady with a trolley, so I moved to the side to let her out. She was a fair bit younger than me, slimmer and well turned out. The sort of person I liked to think I was. But wasn't.

She moved to the side too.

Then I realised that the lift was empty. The back wall was mirrored. I was looking at myself!

The sobercoaster isn't always easy, but once in a while the universe throws you a gift like that moment of realisation, and it makes everything worthwhile....

Love SM x