It's Like You're My Mirror
January 06, 2014
During our final walkthrough of our house, I noticed that the full-length mirror in small room off the master bedroom was cracked. It was just a cheap mirror, somewhat half-heartedly bolted to the closet door, but our realtor wanted to make note of it and make the sellers replace it before we moved in. I persuaded her not to, since I planned to use the room as an office anyway and would have no need for a mirror there, and besides: A similar replacement mirror cost all of 25 bucks and if she thought I was mentally capable of handling even the slightest hiccup on our way to closing SHE CLEARLY WASN'T PAYING ATTENTION TO THE BASKET CASE SHE WAS CURRENTLY TOURING A HOUSE WITH.
So we moved in. And we never replaced the mirror. At first I wanted decide on a design concept for the office, but then the final design concept turned out to be "the sort of room where a cheap cracked mirror actually makes a lot of sense." So it became yet another in a long line of our house-related Maybe Laters.
Plus, it's not like the crack got in the way of the mirror's primary purpose over the years of Pregnancy Selfies:
(The crack ran along the top of the mirror, above my head, which I usually cropped out of the picture anyway so I wouldn't have to put on makeup. I am very efficient like that.)
(And for everybody who skipped the first two paragraphs and just saw this picture and freaked out because OMG UR PREGNANT: Sorry, no, I am not, that is an old picture, and consider this a lesson for you to pay attention every blessed, stupid word I say.)
Anyway, last night I opened that closet to get a pair of pajama pants. And as I closed the door, the mirror decided that it had finally had enough. ENOUGH I SAY. There was a crack, a creak, and then a spectacular, horrible timber.
I will have you know that I at least had the good sense to step back and away from from the collapse, instead of reaching for it with my bare hands, all I WILL SAVE YOOOOOU, CRAPPY MIRROR! And I also had the good sense to not move afterwards, but instead simply bleated for Jason to come help me.
I'M TRAPPED IN THE OFFICE, I hollered. SEND SHOES.
Jason tossed me a pair of flip-flops and then noticed a large red mark on one of my socks. "Are you bleeding?"
I stared at my foot. "Maybe?" I guessed. I pulled off my sock and examined my toes, which seemed fine. I looked back at the sock.
"Oh, it's red wine. I'm good! Now what?"
That big brown thing in the center of the picture, by the way, is part of my jewelry box. Specifically, the part of my jewelry box where I keep my earrings. Specifically, my tiny stud earrings that are really hard to distinguish from a bajillion shiny shards of glass, which made the clean-up process even more fun.
And now I have to repaint the closet door, as there's now a yellowish, ghostly outline of a mirror there. Or buy a new mirror, I suppose.
Eh. Maybe later.