Driving in the car recently, my daughter pulled down the visor in front of her and opened the mirror. Her hair was in a side ponytail draped over her right shoulder. She wore a black and white plaid beret.
“I really like this hat and hair thing I have going on today.”
“Yes, very cute,” I said.
She’s twelve, the age of fashion daring; young enough to have some really crazy ideas of what might work, and unaffected enough to pull it off.
She looked and smiled at herself a couple times. The car is such a good place to primp. The natural light illuminates every stray hair, every irregular pore, the butter shade of your front teeth contrasting with the toffee shade of your incisors.
But stranded in a car with only passing cornfields and a forty-year-old mother for views, I feared she may become captive of her own reflection.
“I have pretty good skin,” she said. “No zits yet at all.”
Her genealogy doesn’t bode well for clear skin through adolescence. “Don’t get too attached,” I said. [Read more…]