Pursuant to my recent discovery of the antique mirror behind my furnace, I grew more curious about the other old mirror that came with the house. There’s an ornate oval mirror in the main bath, and its antiquing is much more pronounced than the rectangular one I retrieved from behind the furnace.
As I ran my bath, I decided to see how it was attached to the wall, and also, to see if it had any indication of a date on it.
What happened to me was slightly traumatic, and it’s okay if I peed my pants in horror just a lil bit, because, naked for bath.
I pulled the mirror away from the wall, and I distinctly heard the interstate.
*squeeze eyes tightly*
I immediately returned the mirror to the wall, horrified.
Minor panic attack. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.
No, I did not find the face of a dead girl staring back at me, thank you, Stir of Echoes, but I would not like to look too carefully!
What the WHAT?!? Crazy ass shit FTW!
Now I know why I’m always finding so many baby spiders on the sink! At least once a week, I’m all, “Where do you come from, Baby Spiders?!?” I take them outside, where they all probably laugh at me in their squeaky baby spider voices.
I lay in my bath,
talking to staring at the overhead light, asking it wondering, “If I take you down, will I see the sky?”
It did not respond to my query.
Bastard fixture. Prolly in cahoots with all the other fixtures.
It’s one (tacky, lazy) thing to paint around a mirror, but to not have drywall behind one? Totally not okay. Now I’ve got to drywall patch! I just wanted to paint the walls and buy some new rugs…Ugh!
I truly am thankful there wasn’t a plastic-wrapped girl in there, so that’s somethin.