...six inches from the toilet.
The hotel room I'm staying in this week has the mirror.
You know the kind I'm talking about: wall-mounted on an accordion swing arm next to the bathroom sink, haloed with light, offering a view of your face that human eyes were never meant to see.
I LOVE the mirror. I could lose forty-five minutes in front of one of those things without batting an eye, just standing there studying the lines in my face, plucking stray hairs, picking at blemishes, and investigating imperfections I never would have spotted otherwise—it's trance-inducing.
If I had one in my own bathroom, I wouldn't get a single thing done. I'm not sure it's a vanity thing (though possibly it is)—I think it's something more akin to morbid fascination. Like, does my skin actually look like that? Yikes! But also...how amazing? There's so much going on there that I wasn't aware of!
The friend I'm traveling with doesn't share my enthusiasm.
"What are you doing in there?" he yelled through the door after my disappearance hit the half-hour mark yesterday.
When I emerged in a daze, my back sore from stooping, and confessed what I'd been up to, he looked genuinely alarmed.
"Oh, absolutely not," he said. "Those things are terrifying. I don't need to see myself that close."
"Really?"
"Oh yes. Waaaaaaay too overwhelming. No thank you."
I stood there, momentarily taken aback and preparing my defense, until I realized something.
"Suit yourself," I said, stepping back into the bathroom. "More mirror time for me."
Where do you fall on the magnifying mirror spectrum? Do you find them hypnotic, or do you leave them pushed flat against the wall? Let me know (if you'd like).