The Woman in the Mirror

This morning I looked in the mirror and couldn't believe my eyes. The woman I saw wasn't me! I know I've grown older, but I also know the real me.

I don't have wrinkled, dry skin on my face. My eyes aren't red-rimmed like a raccoon with a hangover. (The poor dear must be taking drops to combat glaucoma; the real me wouldn't think of doing that.) The real me has smooth skin and not wrinkles on her arms that look like an alligator shedding its skin. The real me lifts her arms and smiles at their smoothness and life. The woman in the mirror has cellulite hanging like bat wings at each armpit and scaley looking, loose skin down her arms.

And where did all those brown spots come from? I tan evenly in the summer; why the pseudo freckles? A sprinkling across the nose suffices, not those ugly blotches all over. The woman in the mirror has veins that stand out on her hands (no problem for the nurse to find a vein on her!) and knobby finger joints and knuckles. The real me has smooth skin and lovely hands, and the nurses ask where I've had veins tapped before.

That darn woman doesn't even walk straight! She loses her balance and asks perfect strangers to let her lean on their arms to cross a curb. I've got to admit, they've all been very helpful and didn't seem to mind helping her out --- even the gentlemen with reggae braids and pierced parts that must be uncomfortable.

The real me goes to dances and dances to the "name" bands ---" Les Brown and His Band of Renown," "Swing and Sway with Sammy Kaye," 'Glenn Miller," and all the rest (Including Spike Jones!). The real me still dances close and follows every step; and can still 'dip' lower than anyone else. And I flirt with my partners and have a wonderful time. The real me sings along with the band, and listens to people tell her she should be a professional singer. She has a shape that many admire. She isn't an old woman with a sagging belly and thunder thighs. That's the woman in the mirror!

So, when you meet me, please remember--- you aren't meeting the real me; just the woman in the mirror. The real me is still there, waiting for those who recognize her.