The worst part about dressing up is tying the tie. Repeatedly trying to craft the perfect knot, all the longer I have to stare at myself.
She often gets ready beside me, and I wonder what she sees in me. I can never get the knot right, always trapped in the heart of a standoff; a game of tug-of-war played by my mind—the optic nerves of my eyes used as ropes. Stuck between gazing into her beauty unnoticed and avoiding my reflection.
Our eyes lock in the mirror.
“Cute!” She smiles, nodding at my tie.
Yep, I’ll keep this knot.