After a Fashion

It's a normal Saturday. At least it starts off as one. She wakes at her usual time, growls and turns over. She dozes on and off for another hour and gives up. Has coffee, breakfast, does some minor chores and takes a shower. She has the whole day ahead of her. So, what will she do? Retail therapy? Call Missy? Laundry? Nah, none of that appeals to her, today.

It really would be a crime to sit on the couch all day. She realizes that this could very well be one of the last nice fall days and she should get out and take a walk or something. She'll be the first to admit that exercise and other healthy stuff are not her strengths. No, her strengths are laziness, procrastination and daydreaming. Those things she does well, always has. But something nudges at her. Maybe the memory of her father's disappointment, when once again, she failed to follow through with a sport or other activity she had just started. So, she wiggles into leggings, puts on a tank top and a hoodie and laces up her running shoes. Not that she'd ever run in them, short of being chased by a pack of wolves, maybe.

She has only recently moved to this part of town and hasn't gotten around to exploring. Remember the procrastination? So, with the bare essentials stuffed in her pockets she leaves her apartment, fully intending to be back within the hour.

Two blocks from her apartment, she comes to a small retail section. A bakery - should remember that, get some rolls or fresh bread, someday. An art gallery - a bit pricy for her budget. An indie movie theater - too early in the day. A curio/antiques shop. Bingo!

The bell over the door announced her arrival.

"Feel free to look around. Holler if you need help." A disembodied voice welcomed her. "Okay, thanks."

She picks up a trinket here, a nick-nack there, trails her hand over a tabletop, looks inside a cabinet. And then she's looking at herself. Almost.

She takes a closer look at the mirror. A lovely, gilded frame, a bit ornate for her taste, but it suits. She looks at her reflection again. "Damn! I look good."

This is hands down the most flattering mirror she's ever stood in front of. What an ego boost, to see herself looking this good, each morning before leaving for work.

"How much for the mirror?" She calls out.

"Which one" A chair scrapes over linoleum. Heavy footsteps. "Ah, that one. A hundred?" She hesitates, tries to calculate when rent is due, when the next paycheck should come. "Eighty?' He asks. Oh, he is bargaining with himself. "Will you take sixty?" she nudges. "Yeah, fine." He shrugs.

Hot diggety dog! Now, how to get it home? She borrows a moving blanket and a bunch of duct tape from the shop keeper. Taking frequent breaks, she manages to carry it the two blocks and three flights of stairs. She clears a bit of wall space in the bedroom. Okay, it doesn't like to reflect the light from the window. An hour later, she has moved the bed and two chairs and finally finds a corner where the mirror is happy.

Yeah, okay. But it just made her look ugly, until she found the right spot. Now, she almost look pretty. She swears.

Of course, this was more work than she wanted. Lord, you could almost call it exercise, which she doesn't do, remember? After a, much-needed and well-deserved shower, she walks back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, reaches into her closet for fresh yoga pants and a sweater. She drops the towel to slip into her panties. Is that a whistle? She looks out the window, but of course, there is no one there. After all, she lives on the third floor.

"No, here." Her heart jolts. That's a voice! A man's voice! Slowly, on tiptoes, she creeps to the bedroom door and peers around the corner. "No, here." The voice is coming from inside the bedroom. Heart pounding, she swings around. Empty. Her breathing is shallow, her hands cold, the rest of her is bathed in a cold sweat.

"What?" She whispers. "What's going on? Who's there?"

"Look here." From the corner of her eye, she sees a glimmer. The mirror? The mirror is talking to her? Oh god! Has she lost it? Slowly, carefully, she turns and takes one step closer to the mirror.

"Hi." He says.

She takes a step back, swallows. "Hi." She croaks, swallows again, clears my throat.

"Don't be afraid. I'm your friend." He sounds soothing.

Yeah. Right. Frozen, she looks at her own reflection, granted a better than normal version of herself. She's talking to a male mirror! Why is she not running out of the room screaming?

"Let's see." She can almost see him fold one arm across his chest, prop his other elbow in the cup of his hand, rest his cheek against his hand, his head slightly tilted, while he ponders her.

Her reflection changes. She's wearing grunge, her hair is spiked. "No." She shakes her head. "Not a good look."

"Hm mm." He agrees. Tie-dye t-shirt and bellbottoms. "Really?"

"Okay." He concedes. A-line dress, pillbox hat. "Hello, Jackie O."

"Right." Dior New Look. "Oh, I like." She twirls in the pleated skirt, admires the cut of the belted jacket.

"No." The mirror moves on, or rather back. It quickly, skips over the military forties, the depression thirties and lingers at the roaring twenties. She's about to do the Charleston, when they go further back. "Oh, shit. Please. No corsets." She protests.

"Well!" The mirror huffs. And rapidly dials back and stops. "Really? Queen Elizabeth? Oh, the collars! "Okay, okay." She chokes while pawing at the heavily starched linen. "May I suggest Regency, the French period?"

"Hm." He muses. A blur of images. And then the reflection clears. She shivers. The pink silk underdress is damp and clinging to her nude body, The cream tulle overdress makes it look as if she's floating. The low, very low neckline and high, very high empire waistline, leave very little room for fabric to cover her breasts.

"Be careful what you ask for" She mumbles. "Can we go back to the roaring twenties?" She asks, hopefully.

"No." His voiced sounds gravely. Slowly her reflection upgrades further. Her mouse brown hair gleams and has brighter highlights. Her eyes are a bit bigger, a little greener. Her cheeks a bit rosier. And - gulp - her breasts a little plumper.

"Come a little closer." The mirror cajoles. "Let me see you a little better. Another step ... Hm. One more..."

She's touching the mirror

"Gotcha."

In the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, in an ornate gilt frame is a painting of a handsome young couple. One could say that his expression is pleased, maybe a little smug. She looks ... confused, maybe a tad angry.