I have this great friend. 99% of the time, she is an angel on earth. She's an accomplished, super accomplished nurse. She's saved kajillions of lives. She's so good that now she's in charge of all the nurses in the world. She's a philanthropist. Next weekend she is going to feed all the homeless people in Boston Thanksgiving dinner. She's a great mom. Her kids are well-adjusted, smart, compassionate. But. BUTBUTBUT. SHe has a mean streak. SHe KNOWS Delta Hotel is out of town for the week. She knows my narcissistic family has an obsession with dangling mirrors on every otherwise unoccupied inch of wall. Her own husband helped Delta Hotel install the porn star closet doors in my room. SHe KNOWS I am deathly afraid of little boys in the mirror. So what does this saintly Mother Theresa of moms do?
"Tell the boy in the mirror I say hi, DiDi."
"Cover the mirror up with a sheet. Oh, never mind, that'll just make you wonder what's really behind them."
"Don't look in the mirror."
And every possible variation on that theme that you can think of. NIce, huh? So, when my body is found, hunched in the corner of the bathroom floor, frozen stiff with rigor mortis because I have died of fright, CALL TIARA.
And for the record, I want my epitaph to read :
I Told You So.
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2 comments:
i WONDER WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU TRIED TO FRIGHTEN THE ILLUSION OF THIS LURCHING EVIL?
I have a theory, sometimes in the middle of the night, on the way to the bathroom, I see these different images in the hall mirrrrroorr, and as you can see it can be frightening, to see your imagination at work, I Boldly throw off my bathrobe , then I really am frightened back to reality by the naked beast that I so readilly try to hide all the time , with the illusion of the Larger Size hides the truth:)
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