Mirrors and moths

You’ve got to laugh. It’s like being on acid without the nasty side effects. It’s, well, okay, it’s loony.

The other day, I grabbed a book and slapped, with a good deal of venom, a moth. My intention: to kill the moth. I have moths like some people have dust motes. They are everywhere. The moth, instead of being flattened and leaving a dirty smear, plopped onto the floor. And stayed there. I found a pair of middle-aged glasses to check out the deceased moth. It was a sunflower seed.

I laughed. When I made the acid analogy to my daughter, she looked at me weirdly. Or did she? What you see with matured eyes is not always what’s there which in the case of one’s own visage is fine.

Recently, I spent five days away from home. New vistas, new mirrors. Wonderful vistas, but the mirrors were a little shocking for they revealed wrinkles hidden from me by my usual complement of kindly-lit mirrors. I was quite glad to return to my old version of me and to forget the other one I’d spied on holiday.