Sexting

Every bedroom in my flat has a full-length mirror. My little sister and I have great swathes of mirror attached to our walls- although I think hers is less flattering than mine, so always pop in and double-check a new outfit in her room before I leave. Our flatmate’s mirror is leant precariously against his chest of drawers, because none of us have any real idea about how to attach it to the wall.

‘Can I look in your mirror for a second?’ my flatmate asked yesterday. ‘Of course,’ I replied. Having a full-length mirror, and by full-length I mean properly full-length; and situated so that you can see your entire self, even in shoes and a hat, say before a wedding, or Ascot, or another fancy event I am 100% prepared for but just awaiting my invitation to, is one of the great signifiers of my recently acquired adulthood.

Having a flatmate who regularly pops in to look in it is not.

This mirror issue is not unique to my flat. ‘I don’t have a full-length mirror,’ my friend complained to me a few days ago. ‘That sucks,’ I replied distractedly, trying to work out if I had already seen this particular episode of ‘Parenthood’.

‘Parenthood’, a TV series based on the 1989 movie starring Steve Martin, is called ‘that sad one with all the people’ by my flatmate. It’s not an inaccurate description of the show. Obviously, I love it. My friend was still talking. ‘So it’s really hard for me, sexting-wise,’ she continued. ‘What?’ I asked, now fully-engaged. ‘What are you talking about?’ ‘Sexting,’ my friend continued comfortably. ‘When you don’t have a full-length mirror. I had to borrow my flatmate’s. Which was fine, although explaining what I wanted to borrow it for was slightly awkward.’ ‘Maybe I’m more grown-up than I realized,’ I thought to myself. ‘Although I don’t actually know what my flatmate is using my full-length mirror for.’