“I look wired”

“I look wired.”

“What?”

“I look wired.”

You were standing on the footstool in the downstairs bathroom, looking in the mirror. I imagined the tens of thousands of times in your life you will look in a mirror. How many times will you not be happy with what you see?

“What did you say?”

“I look wired.”

Weird.

You think you look weird.

My heart sank. Was this the first of hundreds of times I will need to reassure you? To help you see the inner beauty that others see? To help you see the obvious outer byeauty that others also see?

“What are you unhappy with?”

“My hair looks wired,” you say holding it up. “I need a pony tail.”

I wish that all of life’s problems were so easy to fix.

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