Tales From The Girl’s Bathroom: Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Tales From The Girls Bathroom: Mirror Mirror On The Wall

BEEP BEEP BEEP. I awake very abruptly to the sound of my alarm for the third time this morning. Its seven-forty-five and I’m going to have to hustle if I want to leave the house in time to prolong my fifth tardy. Dodging everything from dirty clothes to pillows, I finally find my way to the bathroom in a tired haze.

Here is where I meet my toughest opponent.

I was entering the ring up against my 32 inch, 20-pound competitor: my mirror. My reflective rival is gilded in a fake gold frame displaying me as if I were the Mona Lisa. Though in my case, the Mona Lisa with dark circles giving away my lack of sleep, and a colony of red volcanos that have appeared on my face overnight. “Definitely not anything Da Vinci would paint”, I thought to myself.  

I fumbled through my disorganized drawers that accurately depict how unorganized I am in all aspects of life. Time was ticking and the only thing I had accomplished was tearing myself down…all before seven-fifty. Realistically, I knew I didn’t have time to apply makeup or fix my hair, but I wouldn’t dare leave the house without my security blanket. I needed a fairy godmother, but all I had was Urban Decay tinted moisturizer and a hairbrush that I couldn’t locate among the chaos.

I had to make a decision.

Granted, I think this is a fabulous look. He’s working it. However, I could not pull it off!

Do I sacrifice my hair or my face? After another glance in the mirror, I knew I couldn’t go to school with Mount St. Helens on my chin. Makeup it is. I throw my hair in a ponytail (a decision I’d later regret while in the school bathroom seeing others throw their gorgeous hair back effortlessly while my, now frizzy, ponytail resembled Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler.).

With my patchy foundation only partially covering up the rocky mountain range on my face, I felt horrible. I wanted to be Mona Lisa, but in that moment, I most definitely resembled The Scream. The moment I’ve been dreading, talking off my fuzzy Elsa pajama pants and putting on my school skirt. I zipped up the plaid pleats, and, to my dismay, it was even tighter than usual. Maybe, I was just overthinking it. I rummaged through the dirty clothes that created a carpet on my hardwood floors in an© GC Images
attempt to find my bra that always seems to be missing. Five minutes later I locate it, ironically in the place that it belonged. I tucked in my shirt, adding a half of an inch to my already too tight skirt. In that moment I decided I would keep my sweatshirt on all day in an attempt to conceal the awkwardness. I run out the door nearly tripping down the stairs. I hop into my pink convertible, and sped away, but not fast enough to outrun my insecurities.  

In the midst of my morning routine, I managed to forget that “The Scream” is still a beautiful and acclaimed piece of art, and that volcanoes formed the beautiful Hawaiian islands.

This week I showed you my insecurities.  In the coming weeks, I will feature 5 girls and the burdens they carry.