mirror me
On Valentine's Day, Justin and I went out for a special dinner. They seated us in a room with shiny mirrored walls, and while we were waiting for our food I did some surreptitious mirror-spying on the people sitting around us. There was a girl sitting across the room who looked like Summer Glau (both Justin and I came to that conclusion separately), and a middle-aged jackhole at a booth that kept harrassing the waiters because his table was slightly uneven and he spilled water on his food.
At some point during this visual exploration of our fellow diners, I turned my head and noticed a woman in a black dress. She had pale skin and curling dark hair, red lipstick and high cheekbones. The contrast gave her an elegant, quiet sort of beauty and for a moment I was captivated by her.
I was startled to find, once I looked away from the mirror and tried to find her in the restaurant in person, that I had been looking at my own reflection. I felt a little stupid, but in all honesty, I felt a little proud too. I caught my own chronically self-conscious eye.
At some point during this visual exploration of our fellow diners, I turned my head and noticed a woman in a black dress. She had pale skin and curling dark hair, red lipstick and high cheekbones. The contrast gave her an elegant, quiet sort of beauty and for a moment I was captivated by her.
I was startled to find, once I looked away from the mirror and tried to find her in the restaurant in person, that I had been looking at my own reflection. I felt a little stupid, but in all honesty, I felt a little proud too. I caught my own chronically self-conscious eye.