through the looking glass

Posted: October 29, 2010 in don't fight it
Tags: , , ,

Oct 28th 2010

I have to admit I hate large plate glass windows.  I am convinced they were invented by individuals with a heightened narcissic and sadistic bent.  It’s just glass right? Or is it?

Every man, woman and their dogs look in them, peer, stare, casually glance and then a rapid sequence of events occur.  Firstly it is ~ the assessment.  Oh yes. There is a lifting of the back perhaps a tuck in the front, the shoulder pulls back revealing the sensuous chest or pulsing pecs.  If things are aligning well there may follow a flutter of the back of the neck as freedom and youth wash across the ego and admiration makes the passing figure stop and peer at an object in the window.  It doesn’t matter what.  It might be a painter’s ladder, boxes of Tide or luxurious bathroom fittings.  Regardless of the window content there follows a flex, fiddle with adornments, the locks are fluttered and then cruelest of all – an approval allowing for the vibrancy of the desired image to trundle off into the day.

Is one result.

The other is more disparaging; the sun blasts a blinding reflection off the balding pate or the bum sags (once pert like bunches of sakura petals now it sags slovenly like the mudslides in Pakistan and this is after thirty minutes on that absurd little stepper you picked up from a clearing house.  The only things cleared were your finances and dreams). Other features jump out; jowls like unbaked baguettes, upper arms with the vibrancy of creamy mashed potatoes and a mid section – where did that come from, is there someone standing behind you?  The image spews of a vibrancy fading like a screeching seagull not a peacock.

But it is the departure after the disillusion  that really irkes the soul.  Youth will wander off confident and unabashed with an attitude convinced that the window was blessed to gaze at their being, to be allowed to capture their vitality before they seize the day.  The aged… er…advanced maturing image… slinks off pretending to have never glanced in the mirror.  A swirl of ‘Who me?  Oh no I’m beyond that. I was just glancing at the fascinating ratchet set in the window.’

This is why the only comfortable destination for figures who submit to the arbitrator of egos – gravity – is Europe.  SMALL WINDOWS .  Yes!  If you stay away from the huge shopping piazzas you can walk blissfully unaware that as a fossil you have remained youthful inside while your decaying façade glares at others… not yourself.

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