Never use the magnifying mirror.

“Do you see this?” I ask.

“What?”  David is towelling his hair.

“This.”  I turn the left side of my face to him.  “This.”

He comes closer.  Looks.  Then looks again.  “I don’t see anything.”

“This.”  I use my finger to show him what I’m talking about.  

“I don’t see anything.”

“I’m growing a beard.”

“You are not growing a beard.”

“I AM!”  I pull the fine hair from my jawline between my thumb and forefinger now.  “Right here.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I can see it!  In the mirror HERE!”

“You mean in the mirror that magnifies things 5 times their regular size?  That mirror?”

“Here in this light here!” I twist my jaw up to the light and then pull his face closer.  “HERE!  See that?”

“Well, when you twist all around like that, and under the blinding light, and all up close, yeah.”

“I TOLD you.  It’s a beard.”

“It’s not a beard.  It’s… down… like goose down.”

I shoot him a look.

“Swan,” he says quickly.  “Swan down.  You’re very swanny.”

“One morning I’m going to wake up with Mutton chops.”

“But they’ll be mostly invisible.”

“But they’ll still be there.”

“Then you can be really confident in your application to the biker gang.”

I absentmindedly tug at my downy mutton chops as I think about the possibilities.

“Just maybe don’t use that as your go-to gesture when you’re deep in thought,” he says.  Then he ducks.