It was an oddly still moment, watching those familiar hands do up the last two buttons down the shirt front.

Weekday mornings are usually rushed (aren't they supposed to be rushed?) and yet this was a moment of true uni-tasking. I watched those hands uni-task the shirt closed right to the bottom and then realised with some surprise that all I was doing was watch the hands get the little pearl buttons through their holes.

There was no concurrent activity, either physical or mental, as there always is to tighten up morning prep time.

The shirt was fully closed and then the hands dropped down to resting position.


I stopped and said to myself, "I know those hands..." and I stood still as they seemed utterly familiar yet new.

Then--That's her. That's what she looks like.

That's me. Those are my trousers. That is my shirt. I'm tanned this summer. The shirt complements my complexion more now than it did in April.

That's me. That's the majority of my abdomen reflected in the mirror from the counter-top to the bottom of the steam cloud.


I look up, expecting to see some of my face where the steam has cleared but it's too soon for that. My face, the top of my body to the middle of my rib cage, is completely obscured. It's completely obscured.


It's hidden by this fog that should clear soon enough.


I recognise the parts I see; I wish I could see the whole thing. (Is the metaphor becoming obvious now?)
It was perfect. It brought a twinge of frustration but I thought the visual expression was too profound and poignant to not be a little neat (and somehow, sidewaysly encouraging).