“Be careful what you wish for,” a little voice said to me as I grabbed the makeup mirror off the shelf at Bed Bath & Beyond and took it to the cash register. (Along with my 20 percent off coupon. What, do you think I’m stupid? Pay full price for something when I’ve got a stack of coupons that never expire? Some of mine are so old they’re faded and stained with foods and dyes that have been banned since the early ‘90s)
I had been searching for the perfect makeup mirror for years. Years, I tell you. Which is weird, because I don’t wear a whole lot of makeup. It takes me approximately 4 minutes to put on all of my makeup. I don’t even need a mirror at all. I’ve put on makeup while walking through a parking garage and I look the same as I always do.
But I wanted a super-powerful makeup mirror. When I go back to Ohio to visit family, I stay at my mother-in-law’s house and use her makeup mirror. It’s a mega-magnifier and I always make new discoveries about myself after a visit there. For instance, sections of my face have microscopic hairs growing out of them, which I’d never noticed before. She has a light shining down on her mirror that I imagine a plastic surgeon uses when he’s doing a super-sensitive procedure. On an insect.
Naturally, I wanted one of those for my own home. I searched. I kept finding mirrors with different light settings (“office,” “home” “evening”) like the one I had in high school. Who says that wherever you go in the evening, there’s a pink glow? And that in the office you’re green and look like you have a combination of morning sickness and Mick Jagger eye bags?
I also kept finding mirrors for the extremely lazy. I actually owned a makeup mirror where I didn’t have to turn it on and off; I only had to touch the base and it would come on. Except that it was so sensitive, that it came on if you breathed on it. Or if a whisp of air came from the air conditioner vent. Or if you were worried while in the bathroom and your negative vibes made their way over to the mirror. Or if your husband hid his razors and you ran out of yours and you emitted some anger and marital frustration anywhere near the makeup mirror. The thing was turning on and off while we slept.
Imagine my glee when I found a makeup mirror with 10X magnification and an old-fashioned on-off switch. I couldn’t get it and my coupon up to the check-out fast enough. Then I got it home and plugged it in and, as Mrs. Kaden from the neighborhood would say, Jesus Mary and Joseph, do I really need to see that much of myself in cellular view? I felt like I was back in Mr. Sostaric’s biology class looking at stuff from the bottom of our shoes through the microscope and not recognizing them. That’s really my chin? Hunh-uh. Remember when I wrote a whole blog on the tiny hairs in the corner of your eyes? Yeah, well, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. I’ve got hairs and bumps and pores and crevices and valleys and hills and actual icebergs all over my face. I’m afraid to point that bad boy down to the rest of my body. I don’t think my self-esteem could take it.
But why did I want this 10X magnifier again? Who is going to see me this close-up? No one except my eye doctor (who, despite what you might think, does not want to kiss you. He’s only getting that close because he has to. I don’t even think he notices things about your face that don’t have anything to do with your eyes.).
But now I’m stuck with it. I used my 20 percent off coupon and I won’t get it back if I return it, so from now on, it’s me and my large, detailed face, every morning. And when I see blotchy green skin, I can’t even blame it on the office lighting.
Labels: 10X magnifier mirror, Bed Bath and Beyond, coupons, makeup mirror