The mirror again.
A necessary evil, though it ceased being kind years ago.
Jens once had had the gall to call her vain, a case of the pot and the kettle if ever there was one.
Jens, the preening peacock, crucified between his hairline and his waistline.
She leaned in, concentrated on drawing a tight line around her lips with the special lipstick that wouldn’t bleed into the creases which had seemed to appear overnight.
Satisfied, she stood back and flicked off the mirror light.
Backlit in the doorway, she smiled at her trim silhouette.
I look young.