They stood on opposite sides of the room, sizing each other up like fencing opponents trying to “feel” out the opponent before the duel began. Each took a step forward and frowned in concentration. There was something vaguely familiar about the other. Like a shadow from the past or a memory of a childhood friend. There was a story hidden in the curves and lines of the other that each knew. Another few quick steps forward, anticipating the moves that would keep them in rhythm. Eyes squinting, they glare. Each trying to browbeat the other into submission. A nagging doubt approaches hesitantly but is summarily dismissed – it could not possibly be the case.
Poised, tensed for flight or fight, they stand almost face to face. The same long regal nose looks down upon the features of challenger. Deep inky black shadows grace the eyes on both the faces. The once-tight skin around the neck droops into neatly adjusted folds, confined by the beads of pearls that limit them. The velvet on the neckline has not aged gracefully and the lace withers in shame at being put on display. The swishing skirt of the dress provides relief to the backbreaking cleaning efforts of the staff – adding it’s own little sweeps wherever it touches the floor.
And thus, while she stares contemptuously at her reflection, Madam D has to concede that she needs spectacles. It is time to change her point of view.