mirror. I run my fingers, with their perfectly manicured pink fingernails, down my sides, resting my thin hands on my hips. I cock my head back and forth, making kissing faces at myself in the mirror. I like myself. I love myself. I am grateful for my life, and it shows. I am radiant. I am She and, in the morning light, dancing through the panes behind me and the lace sheer, I am young and lovely. A few turns of the cap and the room fills with the scent of lavender. Creamy