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Thursday, 22 January 2009
I said I might one day tell the story behind my beautiful mirror. Being stranded in bed - and too sleepy and spaced-out to do anything terribly useful - this seems like a good time.
Long before my husband became my husband, he took me to a party at the house of one of his friends - we'll call her M (because that is her initial - gosh, I'm so imaginative today). I hadn't met M or any of the other guests before that evening, but I'm not one to let that stop me enjoying myself.
Now, M is an amazing artist, and specialized at the time in mosaics. She had a house full of them. Towards the end of the party she declared that she had too many, she was planning on moving house and didn't want to take them all with her, so she held a draw. Everyone was to write his or her name on a piece of paper and put it in a hat, and the winner could choose any mosaic from her collection.
Someone volunteered to pull out the name, and he pulled out his own - looking a little embarassed, he said that we should do it again as he already had a few of her pieces.
"Let me have a go," I volunteered, having always done this kind of thing at school fairs and the like. I joked: "I'll see if I can get my own name, too."
I swear, I didn't cheat - it would have been impossible. But I did get to choose a present for myself. This mirror stood out for so many reasons: it was a mirror, so more useful than the other options; it was a funky shape; and the colours were just so me. It makes me smile every time I use it.