Mirror, Mirror on the wall, you use to be my friend.

You never lied and said I was beautiful, but you showed me, attractive could be attained with the right makeup, and let me know when I had accented enough of Mom’s features and downplayed enough of Dad’s. You were brutally honest when I’d gained too much weight, and helped me make sure it was well hidden, until it was lost. You also helped me discover accenting ones breast could hide a mountain of cheesecake, and that too tight jeans wouldn’t fool anyone.

So what happened? When did you go traitor on me? Where the heck did the lines on my forehead and around my eyes come from? When did the natural color of my hair (what little I can see of it) become mostly gray? Why did the breasts I was so proud of move so far south? When did I start looking old?

I have one request, old friend. Learn to soft-focus.