Cautiously from above the newspaper I pretend to be reading, I watch her closely as she looks at herself in the mirror. She uses her index finger to pull at the corner of her eyes. She puffs her lips some, to see if the wrinkles around them iron out. They don’t. Thank God they don’t.
Those wrinkles are a testament, to all the times we have spent together. They are all the days we spent rearing our kids, who are now gone to be on their own. They are the sign of the love she has had for me, and that I have for her, even after all these years. Truth be told, I don’t remember how she looked when I first met her. Did she have a clear skin or acne? Did she always wear her hair this short? I don’t know. All I know is that this woman, the one who looks around to see me mock-reading the paper and peering at her from over it’s edge; this woman who still smiles at me like I was the best person in the world.. This is the way she has always looked most beautiful.