The Old Man in the Mirror

When I looked in the mirror this morning, I saw an imposter. Some old guy looking at me. He looked familiar, a little bit like me, a little bit like my dad, but that’s where the resemblance ended. His hair was dishevelled; he was in need of a haircut and a shave. His eyes didn’t have that sparkle that says I’m ready for the day; in fact he looked kind of tired.

I remember seeing a handsome younger man in the mirror. That wasn’t even that long ago. Seems like yesterday, actually. Darkish hair, a smile and bright eyes full of life. That’s why I’m saying that old man in the mirror was an imposter, somebody pretending to be me. When I told him to get the hell out of my mirror, he mocked me by mouthing the same words.

When I went into the bedroom I saw him again in the dresser mirror. He looked a little better, hair combed, shaved, not quite as tired and old, but still, he was a stranger. I have no problem if he wants to pretend he is me, but for heaven’s sake, why doesn’t he make himself a little younger looking? It is depressing to see such an old man in the mirror, following me around wherever I go. It is nice to have a friend, but does he have to be so old?

Perhaps that guy is only an optical illusion, some bending of light in the glass. After all, the mirrors in our house are not new anymore. Is it possible that it is my eyes? I’ve noticed that all my friends are beginning to look old and that can’t be. Maybe it’s all in my head? Some brain damage? The numbers on my driver’s license must be wrong. I think they made a mistake when they put in the date of my birthday. The numbers don’t add up. I can’t be that old.

Or can I be? It’s all the fault of the old man in the mirror. He’s taking over my mind and my soul. If I’m not careful he will be me. Maybe I should change all the mirrors in the house to get rid of him.