This dialog went on regularly until once when the queen was having a bad hair day and was desperately in need of support, she asked the usual question and the mirror answered,
“Alas, if worth be based on beauty, Snow White has surpassed you, cutie.”
– Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, James Finn Garner
Like unto the wicked step-mother of yore, I too have a magic mirror. But as opposed to telling me the truth, or even just what I want to hear, this mirror actively lies to me. And it’s great!
I have a love/hate relationship with mirrors, but it’s a relatively recent thing because I was never a mirror gazer growing up. I heroically resisted lots of “girlifying” attempts on the part of well meaning friends and family, and had only the usual amount of angst about my looks. Gradually I first succumbed, then became addicted to mascara, developed a late blooming but fierce love of fashion, and realized that I was a pretty decent looking girl…
Until! Kiri took me home with her for the Thanksgiving break our junior year of university! This act of kindness towards my semi-orphaned-in-a-strange-land state hid a crippling dagger which would be thrust deep by her cousin.
“I like your mirror face,” she said one day as we put on on various coats, hats, and lip gloss, preparing to head out into the cold.
“What do you mean?” I asked, pausing mid-act in swinging a scarf I’d bought in Paris around my neck. I sensed the approaching danger.
“We all do it. When you look in a mirror your face automatically shifts a bit. Because the mirror’s a two dimensional surface, it reflects your three dimensional face back a little skewed, so you don’t actually look the same in the mirror as you do in real life. We make mirror faces because we’re trying to show off our best features, it’s all psychological–”
I tuned out at that point because I was deep in the horrors. I’d just come to terms with what I saw in the mirror! My previous adolescent nonchalance had taken an abrupt nosedive when I came to university and saw the assorted Quirky Chic Girls, Effortlessly Stylish Girls, Not Exactly Stylish But Rich Enough To Fake It Girls, and other types you invariably bump into in a crowd of forty thousand people (I learned quick, but the lingering air of shame scuppered my aplomb). In a matter of moments, my recently rebuilt sense of confidence had crumbled. Parisian scarf, English hat, and new leather gloves notwithstanding, I spent the day torturing myself over my buck teeth, asymmetrical face, Hapsburg Lip, and sallow skin.
None of which I actually had, of course, but since my faith in mirrors was shattered, could I actually trust what any of them showed me?!
Years later I’ve made peace with the Mirror People (my own reflection in particular), but I’d be lying if I said my current mirror didn’t help the process a bit. By some magic trick of the light, a flaw in the glass itself, or some other miracle, anyone who looks in that shiny surface has slightly longer and thinner legs, fuller hair, and a waist that just maybe an inch or two smaller. Not huge changes, just enough to make you feel like a fox when you walk out the door.
Until you catch sight of yourself in a those sadistic fun-house jokes they stock GAP changing rooms with. Hiss….
After two months out of commission, I am back at the gym with Venice. And I mean it this time. Why? Because Ven has imposed the mother of all weight loss incentives: no shopping until we hit our target weights. 
A couple things that I noticed today because I’m (still) in a rather bad mood and grouchy towards the silliness of my job. Such an attitude invariably spills over into other aspects of life and I do recognize that I need to snap out of it soon. I’ll put on rose colored glasses again shortly, but meanwhile I’m still way too irritated!
3) And it’s not just work being ridiculous! Driving to work today I heard a commercial. “The current credit crunch and recession making it hard for you to buy a car or house? Something drastic must be done! We have bailout money for YOU YOU YOU! Good credit, bad, credit, no credit? High income, low income? Doesn’t matter, you WILL be approved for your big purchase!”
And, melodramatic as it may sound, I genuinely mean it! From the moment I got engaged, my so-called frivolous spending (Frivolous: as if looking good isn’t important. Did none of you endure high school? I spent mine more or less a tragic mess) was sharply curtailed. Money was put towards a new apartment with a significant raise in rent, utilities had to be set up (which generally involved some sort of fee in varying degrees of heftiness), and I had to start putting down payments on everything. My parents paid for the reception which was gorgeous (pictures may or may not be forthcoming, the photographer we used for it did a terrible job. And I’m not saying that facetiously, ask Venice. Bad), but I paid for my gown myself, plus shoes, veil, jewelry, hair, salon time for my bridesmaids and mom, bridesmaids presents, plus extra invitations when we discovered we didn’t have enough. All that means much less money to spend on food, frolic, and fashion than a single girl might be used to.
Women seem to be slightly more at the whim of the vicissitudes of fashion than men. It may just be me, but I’ve observed that our clothing seems to be made of flimsier stuff, which means that we either need to A) replace it often as it wears out, which costs us more, or B) have a large enough wardrobe to begin with so that we can rotate clothing so no one player gets too much time in the field. This also requires not only money, but time, and planning! And, even though I’m getting better, putting outfits together is not a skill that comes effortlessly to me. My fabulous and talented friend 
Small Dog Syndrome 