My father was a glazier. I guess he still is. You don’t simply lose those kinds of skills when you retire. Growing up in a house of mirrors made me a special blend of vain and insecure. There was glass everywhere. Mirrored walls. Tables made of mirrors. Mirrors next to mirrors. Infinity. I couldn’t leave the house as a kid without checking my hairdo at least 10 times. I had to inspect every available angle, which in a house like this, was 360 degrees.