Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

I am staring, blinking in disbelief. The lady next to me, who frankly, had nothing to be proud of, was looking at me like she suspected I was from another planet. I felt like Tom Hanks when he wakes up Big.

I will admit that airport bathroom lighting is not the most flattering a girl could be photographed in, but I was being realistic. It wasn't all lighting.
And it wasn't all 3 and a half hours of sleep at the end of a hellish week, either.

It was me.

I had to admit it. Loathe as I was to do so.

My hair suddenly no longer looked smooth and gleaming and silky. It looked parched and fly-away and drab and dull. A head full of raffia might have looked as good.

My skin was not only sallow and dull looking, it was hanging and skinny. Suddenly I was beginning to understand when Zsa Zsa Gabor, or was it Ava. I don't know, one of the Gabors, presumably the fatter one, said something about reaching an age where you have to choose between having a beautiful face or a nice ass.

I suppose I have reached that age.

Oh my God. I am that age when the Gabors begin to make sense.

I have relatively few issues with my ass but the flip side of that situation was now staring me in the face. Dull,flat hair. Hanging, drab skin.

Oh, and a zit above my eyebrow, glaring like a traffic flare. bright red. I swear I could see it throbbing.

I had to hurry back to Scott so as to not miss our flight (the boarding for which was interrupted by a spot check of random passengers' bags, the manifesto for which included yours truly) and had no tool kit to address the issues with. I scurry back to the gate pretending to be engrossed in my iPhone apps on the go. While Scott runs to the lavatory on his own, I discreetly open my tiny little travel makeup bag with the few essentials one needs for a beach vacation. I mange to find the miracle powder I wear and cover the zit. I dab a little blush on my cheeks and gloss my lips. I also run a little smoother over my hair and fluff it to life with a little beach spray. OK maybe not so discreet, but who is watching? The old couple asleep hunched over their luggage? The grungy surfer dude nodding to whatever jam was playing on iTunes? Flo the attendant trying to calm the nerves of the middle aged couple who keep thinking they needed to let her know they were there to ride on the plane she is in charge of?

Scott comes striding back from the men's room looking as handsome as ever. Eyes sparkling. Radiant smile. Why am I suddenly worried he doesn't see me the same way?

Because suddenly I don't?