[ WP ] You check yourself out in the full length mirror before going to bed . You bend down to untie your shoes . As you are nearly finished , you see with your peripheral vision your reflection stand up seconds before you do .

I'm getting old. There are more lines on my face than there ever were before, folding out from around my eyes like a fan of creases. I smooth at them desperately, pinning my skin back against my face like some demented plastic surgeon. My mouth pulls into a grimace, teeth bared. 
 
 
 
 `` Come to bed, Lise.'' George calls from the bedroom. I can imagine him: reading glasses, striped pyjamas and a book with pages that he'll dog ear no matter how much I tell him not too. 
 
 
 `` One minute!'' I call back. I lift up a tub of night cream and survey it with distaste. *Blasted seven signs of ages. Lifts and strengthens, my arse* 
 
 
 I apply it liberally and rub it into my neck, trying desperately not to notice the loose skin around my jawline. When we were first dating, George used to say he loved my skin. 
 
 
 `` It's so clear!'' He'd brought me a picnic and made me leave my desk long enough to eat it in the park. It was windy and we'd had to hang on to our paper plates and on the way back I must have looked in fifty shop windows trying to put my hair back to shape. On that red chequered rug we lay and watched the clouds drift by. 
 
 
 
 `` Your skin is so pretty. It almost glows.'' He'd said. 
 
 
 
 It did n't any more. 
 
 
 I bent down and unlaced my shoes with stiff fingers, sliding out of the brown brogues that I found so uncomfortable. Then there was a flicker, just at the corner of my eye. I could have sworn my reflection moved. I sprung up and scrutinised the mirror. 
 
 
 The old woman scrutinised me back. Then, before my eyes, she began to change. The old skin lightened and lightened, the lines flattening out into rosy cheeks. My hair grew long and thick, falling dark red halfway down my back. I lifted a hand and ran a hand through my short, grey cut, twisting the strands and watching as the old woman in the mirror became young and happy again. 
 
 
 I was no longer scrawny and bent double, but standing ram-rod straight, curvy and full like my entire body was trying to flirt. The girl in the mirror lifted her hands to her breasts and squeezed them, winking at me as she let her fingers trail down her in a way at made me blush. 
 
 
 I had been beautiful. 
 
 
 I reached my hand out to the mirror and touched its surface. I almost thought it would yield to my touch, but it stayed firm. The red haired girl pouted in mock disappointment and tossed her locks. 
 
 
 `` Let me...'' I half-whispered, pushing desperately at the mirror. The girl who was me shook her head. 
 
 
 `` Please.'' 
 
 
 She stretched out her hand to mine and I hammered the glass surface frantically. 
 
 
 `` Lise?'' George was standing in the doorway of the bathroom in his pyjamas, closed book under one arm. Concern was written all over his face. `` Are you alright?'' He asked. 
 
 
 I looked back at the mirror, but she was gone and only a scared, ugly, shrunken old woman stared back. 
 
 
 `` Come to bed, Lise,'' George said, reaching for my hand. He smiled and leant in to kiss me on the cheek. `` You look beautiful.'' 
 

