The toddler shows me a picture of me that she has just taken with my phone. Who is that person? That's can't be me? I look old and tired and irritated.
I tell the toddler to wait before she takes another picture because I'm going to wash my face because washing your face solves everything.
I should probably start listening to Morrissey when I wash my face because there is a lot of self-loathing up here in this bathroom.
I am swearing as I contort my face in ways that would probably frighten small children and adults alike in any kind of light. My face is changing as the days and years go on and the face that stares back at me seems like a Bizarro version of the face I once knew and once loved.
A cruel connect-the-dots matrix exists across my face. People call them sunspots like they're some lovely gift from nature. They are neither, if you must know. Wrinkles are just now settling into a place around my eyes and if I look for too long, I can feel the wrinkles take root and feel them creeping through the rest of my face.
So I try this thing called squinching which I read about and laughed at at first because this is a joke, right? But desperate times. . .
Squinching "is narrowing the eyes by tightening your lower eyelid and letting the top one drop down just a bit." It's a technique that's supposed to make you more photogenic and apparently, EVERYONE is doing it.
I wonder if they just meant everyone UNDER the age of 40?
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror for five minutes trying to squinch and all that is happening is a weird numbness occurring over my cheeks. Also, it looks like my eyelids are spasming. Should my eyeballs be hurting?
The toddler calls out to me, "Mommy, should I call Daddy? Are you okay?"
"No, I'm fine." I try to squinch one more time and realize too late that Carl is watching me.
"Why are you glaring at yourself?" he asks.
"There are too many reasons today."