For my birthday, I asked for a full-length mirror. I'm too old to keep asking my husband if my outfit matches and saying "how does this look?" or "what about this?" whenever I have a wardrobe crisis--which is happening with increasing frequency these days.
Being the nice guy that he is, Rick took me on an adventure to Ikea to scope out mirrors. When we found one we wanted, we couldn't get it into the car with Ada and I still in it. So he went back a few days later and surprised me with it.
Holy big mirror.
Then we had to hang it. But first we had to find the drill's extra battery pack and charger so we could sink anchors big enough to hold this 42 pound beast on the wall. We turned the house upside down looking for this battery pack and charger. (This is my actual birthday we're doing this. How romantic and just what I always wanted!) Rick spent half an hour in the storage units downstairs looking for it. I went up to our neighbor's place and looked to see if we loaned it to her and forgot to get it back.
No where. Nada trace. Nothing. (If you're psychic powers can help, let me know because we still haven't found it.)
Then we borrowed our neighbor's drill and realized we didn't have anchors that would hold that much weight and would have to do the install the next day anyway.
Finally, we got the anchors installed, got the mirror on the wall, cleaned it up all nice and pretty. Rick spent 10 minutes working the streaks off the glass with a paper towel all meticulously. Perfect. We stood back and admired our handy work and the nice, new, enormous mirror.
I'm thinking... "So this is what I look like." It's a full scale version of me. Not just the top half that fits in the mirror above the sink. Not me standing on the tub, leaning against the opposite wall on an angle to see if my skirt looks okay. Not me kicking up my heels to see if my shoes match my outfit. Not me standing on the dining room chair to see what I look like in the mirror over the fireplace. And not me taking a photo of my skirt, shoes and legs to see if I can make an outfit work. But me. Just me. Just like I'm in a fitting room.
This is going to come in handy--until I forget it's there, drop my towel in the morning and scare the bejesus out of naked me with my naked reflection. I know that time will come...
Until then...
Well, let's just say we woke up this morning and who walks into our room but little miss Ada.
She looks at me. She looks at the mirror. Cool mom. Then she sees herself. Then she points to herself. Then she starts pounding on the mirror with open palms, giving herself high-fives and thinking she's on a play date with the world's coolest kid that just happens to look just like her and do exactly what she does. Neat.
Then it hits me (not literally -- Rick got anchors that will pin a horse to the wall).
We'll be cleaning it daily. It's going to turn into the never ending wall of fingerprints.
Great.
See what I mean... she's only known it was there for 12 hours...
But it does look nice. (minus the hand prints)
Thanks Ricky.
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