Let's take a look at a couple of cases in point, shall we? At my house, which I share with my beautiful wife, three adorable-yet-exasperating children, two annoying dogs, and a seemingly endless plethora of mice, I almost always use the small, leaning-towards-miniscule, master bathroom which adjoins our bedroom. It is tucked away in the bowels of our house, so the kids, dogs, and mice hardly ever come in and bother me there. I consider it a small, crazy-free utopia within the confines of our own insane asylum. I do all of the usual bathroom business in this utopia, you know, like going to the potty, showering, and hiding from the craziness for hours on end. I also shave and trim my beard in this bathroom, two jobs that require me to look in the mirror in order to accomplish them. I can look in that mirror, in that fairly well-lit little bathroom, for hours on end, staring at my facial hair, and only count about 6 or 8 white whiskers in my beard. Now that's a mirror I like!
Another mirror that I am forced to look in quite a bit is the one in the bathroom at work. I don't know if it's the mirror, or the fact that there is only one small light bulb in the entire room, or what, but I don't like that mirror one bit. All I can see, when I can muster up the courage to look in it, is a sea of salt and pepper whiskers from one jowl to the other. It's like half of my facial hair is still sexy and black, and the other half is as white as white can be. There must be a billion of the stupid little albino buggers in there. What is it about that mirror or that light bulb that makes them show up so much? I don't get it. All that I know for sure is that I hate that mirror with a passion. And that light bulb. They are the worst.
|This is essentially what I see when I look in the mirror at work. Despite the fact that it makes me hungry for delicious chicken, I don't like it.|