The mirror in our bathroom is an antique, not unlike the woman who stands in front of it several times a day to brush her teeth. Because it is so old, the reflection the mirror gives is not in sharp focus.

When I was younger and busily obsessing about every enlarged pore and every proto-wrinkle, this lack of clarity bothered me. Now that I am 54 and my wrinkles are starting to get their own wrinkles, the somewhat fuzzy reflection the mirror gives doesn't seem like such a big issue.

Go figure.

I'm over that virus that whomped my butt on the weekend, but the effects of it were still visible this morning. I'm pale and the bags under my eyes are tinged with gray. As I looked in the mirror, for a brief moment I contemplated heading down to my mom-in-law's and borrowing her dog Shadow's collar and tags�that way, when I did my morning run, I wouldn't have to worry about someone calling the pound on me and being picked up as a stray.

So yep, when I was heading down the hill this morning I was in a remarkably positive frame of mine. Yessireebob, just think of me as sunshine on a stick.

Partway down the road I could see that a mountain bike had been left where it could be hit. I figured that the son of one of our neighbours was out from the city to visit his parents. I've known him almost 15 years now and he's kind of casual about his stuff. I picked up his bike and moved it up to their house so it wouldn't be damaged by a passing car.

I was chatting with his dad for a second when he came out the door. We haven't seen each other for about a year.

"MARN," he yelled.

I gave him a questioning look. He looked me up and down.

"MARN, YOU ARE A TOTAL BABE-ASAURUS."

I so seldom get compliments, not to mention compliments that involve fake dinosaur species (and really what woman doesn't want to be compared to ancient creatures long extinct from the planet?) that I don't have a graceful way to accept a compliment, even at the best of times. Because I'd been considering switching to an all Alpo diet about half an hour earlier, I was even more flummoxed than usual.

"I am not a babe-asaurus," I told him solemnly. "I am a babe-asaurus REX and don't you forget it, Mr. Man." I then cracked him up further by making him admire my bicep.

Trust me, there is nothing sillier than the sight of a 50+ year-old woman doing a bicep flex and demanding that you feel her muscle.

Oh, I know, appearance is just wrapping, what matters is the person you are. We should all be able to be comfortable in our skin, self-confident enough, whole enough, that we sail through our days with equanimity, without obsessing about wrinkles, dark circles under our eyes or that stupid roll of fat that insists on slopping over the waistband of our jeans.

I have many days when I can do that, but I also have the occasional day when I just can't find that place. I sweartogawd that one day I will get my act so completely together that that place will become my fixed address.

Shut up. It could happen.

In the meantime, I think I'm going to get a little nameplate for my office that says Babe-asaurus Rex. I'll laugh every time I look at it.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 915.18 miles. Over half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over