The yuk and the yum of aging hair.
It was at that moment that Merlinda knew for sure, there was definitely something wrong with her mirror. She'd been suspecting it for quite some time, but sometimes things can sneak up on you, little by little, until all of a sudden, wham!, the milk's gone sour, Harold the cat's a smelly old fuzzball and your ever-faithful
bathroom mirror is no longer capable of producing accurate reflections.
So off to the hardware store she marched, and into her bathroom floated a gleaming new, golden framed, highly amazing, miracle of a mirror. She preened, fluffed and readied herself. joyous in anticipation. At precisely eleven o'clock, Merlinda walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light. For more than an hour she stood and stared, taking in the disturbing truth: they just don't make mirrors like they used to.