The Blonde Leading The Blind

Vanity is giving yourself an extra half hour to shower so that you may put some serious mirror time in. Reality is when you have a 22-year-old blonde to get ready for. It's going well and mirrors were made for 22-year-old California blondes and for the dreamers like me getting ready to put one on my arm to spend a little time with. That mirror is an odd creation in and of itself. Looking right back at you, catching everything you do in concert. Got a bat in the cave? You and the mirror are the only ones to know. Checking regional redness to make sure if it's a rash or not? The mirror will give its diagnosis before any doctor. And it too, would keep it a secret. Now I got to jump in the shower because I want to look good for Sarah. Both the mirror and I won't even think to mention the age difference. We don't have to. We already know it and have shoveled it as far down into an amnesia pile of bullshit we possbly could, my confidence is soaring. The third date. Going nicely and quickly. Tonight or perhaps even tomorrow morning, the mirror and I will know what my face looks like before I even approach. Right now though? Not much of a pep talk needed, even the mirror knows to shut the fuck up.