You look lovely today
It is early. The steam of coffee rises next to from a mug that my oldest daughter bought me. She smiled when she gave it to me, a surprise for no reason at all. The handle is a shiny gold. It is large and the sides of it are purposefully dimpled. That same gold paint on the smooth, uneven surface tells me what I want to hear, "you look lovely today." I don't. I don't look lovely. I look like I rolled out of bed at 4:16 this morning. My hair is some messed up version of what it was yesterday. Lumpy in the back from a wonderful night with my pillow. My makeup is mostly gone, save for the stubborn mascara that has slightly smeared into the puffiness of my eyes. And the wrinkles! I want to laugh at the age that is creeping up on me. It seems forever ridiculous to see forty years in the mirror when the inside of me never moves past the age of twenty. I haven't looked in the mirror this morning, but I know. I know what I look like in the mornin
