This morning when I staggered into the bathroom at the early morning hour of 5:00, and flipped on the light, every single bulb but one blew out. (There were six before.) It was like a small pyrotechnics display. I remembered that we are out of lightbulbs (of course), and the ambiance was nice, so I took my shower and it even occurred to me that with such low light, it was probably easier for Adam to keep sleeping, since we don't have a door separating our bathroom from our bedroom.
When I stepped out of the shower and had to face the mirrors on all sides, I paused and thought, "You know, girl, you look better in less light." And it has stayed with me all day long. It's a woman's nature to get up to that mirror, with the bright light overhead, and examine for new wrinkles, spots, blackheads, cellulite, or other imperfections. We are, truly, our toughest critic. Well, I couldn't see a darn thing, and it was NICE. Maybe I should stop looking at myself under such direct light. Maybe the one lightbulb bathroom could revolutionize the way I start to see myself, and then, the way I treat myself.
Hopefully, lightbulbs don't go on sale next week.