I noticed recently that – all her life – Izobel has saved her shittiest handprints for our shiniest mirrors.
Some of Izobel’s handprints are right down at the bottom of the tallest mirrors we have.
Higgledy piggledy.
From eight years ago, probably.
Others.
Shin-height.
Then waist-height.
And some handprints, from last year probably, are (my) chest-height.
I don’t like these shitty handprints on shiny mirrors.
Not because of what they are.
I love what they are.
I don’t like these shitty handprints on shiny mirrors because as they get higher.
They get bigger.
And as they get bigger.
They get fewer.
And as they get fewer.
I get sadder.
Because the handprints remind me that one day.
Sooner than I’d like.
There’ll be no more new shitty handprints at all.