It just so happens that in both households where I work, they have recently had a delivery of big mirrors from overseas. Now, I like to choose my mirrors with care. At fifty, the surprise reflection can throw back your dad in a bad wig, or Jabba the Hutt on a good day. I approach mirrors with stealth and the best lighting possible. This afternoon I've been sat opposite a mirror that made me want to cry, or dissolve fattily between the floorboards. OK, nobody looks good on the floor, it's true. Unless it's dark.
In other news, My File at the Agency has been sent out to three companies who are seeking staff. This made me laugh in a sort of reckless, giddy way. Fucking bring it on. Presumably I wouldn't have to sit on the floor opposite a large mirror in any other job. Unless it was some weird, niche, exotic dancer job.