The downside to huge medicine cabinets is their huge mirrored doors.
Mirrors used to be my friends, but now they're ruthless adversaries, mockingly forcing me to face the reality of my sorry condition. I try to avoid them at all costs. Fortunately, my wizened neck can barely support my melon of a head at this point, so the risk is usually minimal. Outside of Graceland, very few floor surfaces are reflective.
I'd grown so complacent, in fact, that as I leaned on my support bar after a shower the other day, waiting to be dried or dressed or something, it took me a moment to realize that the gargoyle I was idly perusing across the way was in fact myself. So hideous, so grotesque was the apparition, I couldn't turn away at first. It looked like a cheap Halloween costume: an unevenly padded suit of flesh the color of Muenster cheese, hanging limply from a wire hanger.
It was the stuff of nightmares.
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