There's been some criticism — justified, I must admit — about the dexterity of my shaving. It appears that my face has become more, what shall I say? intricate over the last years, and has developed some interesting crannies that resist the approach of the razor. In order to improve my shaving technique, I bought one of those circular magnifying mirrors that allows you to view your face in such great detail that you can hunt down and harvest that last otherwise inaccessible follicle. The mirror seemed like a good idea, but, dear friends of a certain age, I do not recommend this purchase. Big mistake.
It had been many years since I studied my face so intently. Things have happened. While I can still locate the remnants of the scar on my forehead, where, when I was a boy, I was pushed into a subway pillar, the mark used to reside just at the hairline. Now, the hairline has migrated a good three inches to the north of the scar and — thanks to the new mirror — I can clearly detect that the first remaining inch or so of brown-gray hair, which I had thought to be of a healthy bushiness, consists of no more than a few well-spaced strands. And what's this cross-hatching on my forehead? Not just the prominent horizontal furrows but new vertical ones as well — when did they appear? And the deep gorges around my eyebrows! And the eyebrows themselves — when did they become parti-colored? Randomly black and white? And how many years ago did these long recurved eyebrow hairs begin to sprout? Fie upon it –'tis an unweeded garden that's gone to seed. Why are the eyebrows themselves so utterly asymmetrical? and what should I make of the thicket of whiteheads — or whatever the heck they are — at all four corners of my bloodshot eyes? Was it always the case that my eyes were set so deeply into those wrinkled dells? And my nose– thanks to the new mirror, I can plainly see the scars where the pre-cancerous lesions were frozen off. What in the world has happened to the tip of my nose? Was it always so preternaturally pointy? I could use it as a letter-opener. When I lift my head just slightly, I see that my nostrils, which I always took to be a matched pair, have set out on separate paths. The right one now sits at a 45 degree angle to the left. It's wandered off-center, like the eye of a flounder. And those nasty black hairs jutting from my nostrils — I must attend to them. And look, there are long hairs coming out of my ears as well. And hanging, floppy earlobes marked with deep lines. What are these fleshy nobs at the sides of my mouth? Were my lips always covered with white flakes? How is it that the left side of my underlip is so much thicker than the right? And my pearly whites? Cracked and chipped and not much of a row: sixty or so years of gnawing has given each tooth its own unique size, shape, color, and identity. And what's this under my chin? A single off-center hanging wattle? No symmetry even in Wattlelandia? Friends, this magnifying mirror is a disaster. I should have stopped shaving entirely and grown a camouflaging beard.
But hold on, there's some good news. It may not be a youthful or symmetrical face, but It's not unfriendly. There's no sneer, or lip curl, or disdain, or anger. Puzzlement, certainly. Wryness, perhaps. Curiosity, for sure.
Folks, at least we're not in a wicked-Dorian-Gray-kind-of-situation.
Wear and tear, yes; villainy, no. Things could be worse.
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