Of Mirrors

I want a full length mirror.

Am I vain for wanting to see what everyone else who sees me gets to see?
From top to bottom?
All at once?
If for no other reason than to spare myself the embarrassment of shopping at GoodWill only to notice that my favorite sweats are thread bare in the "back"? (Threadbare, people!! At GoodWill!! I didnt notice until i was in the dressing room, where, ironically, they have a full length mirror.)

Consider a brief moment of my life yesterday, when, upon returning some media to our local library, i caught sight of my reflection (my whole reflection) in their full-length glass doors.
I wanted to stop.
I wanted to turn sideways and see my profile.

Instinctively, I scanned my five feet and three inches to make sure my husband wasn't fibbing when he assured me that my shoes matched my blouse.

But then it happened. The blasted motion sensor noticed my presence and, wouldnt you know it, my hasnt-been-seen-since-we-moved-to-our-new-full-length-mirrorless-house-six-months-ago top-to-bottom image was ripped from my vision.

I jerked in shattered agony when it was gone.

It was then that I realized I'm either desperate, vain, or just plain pathetic. Is it so wrong of me to want a mirror? Is there a priest out there brave enough to direct me on this postpartum-hormone-induced issue?

(Upon further reflection, i find myself forced into reluctant gratitude. Our Blessed Mother had only Saint Joseph to rely upon for wardrobe summary. Not to knock the Paton of the Universal Church (I love you, J!), but Our Lord just didn't endow men with the same impeccable sense of wardrobe integrity as He did women. At least i have the occassional encounter with the glass door. Did they have glass in 1 B.C.?)