Cadbury Conspiracy

When I was little I was a bit of a show pony. My sisters – six and seven years older than me – would taunt me with the song lyrics, “You’re so vein”, every time I looked in the mirror. Fair enough. I did like my own reflection.

As I grew up I realised other benefits of mirrors and reflective glass: checking for the remains of food in my teeth, confirming appropriate outfits and scrutinising my behind. But it took a longer time for me to realise that not all mirrors are created equal. Not all reflections are true to form.

This is most notable when it comes to the reflections around the office. Working at a magazine publishing house there are lots of mirrors. In the lobby of our building every wall reflects, even the elevator doors are mirrors. Waiting in line for the lifts of a morning checking one’s appearance is a covert operation – humorous, as by then it’s far too late for wardrobe changes, though you can spot a frayed hem or spilt milk before greeting colleagues on your floor. But I digress.

You see the horror of the lobby is that our wall of mirrors makes everyone look stumpy. Having (obviously) surveyed my reflection a fair few times before leaving the house, each day I will myself not to look at the image of myself waiting in line. “Those mirrors are lying.” I chant.

Inevitably my gaze is drawn toward the elevator doors; my image is stretched as the doors open and I embark on my journey to the fourth floor. I feel like crap.

It’s ironic then that my salvation lies in the office kitchen; in the Cadbury’s confectionary fridge, to be precise. You see, selling candy in an office where everyone’s on a diet is a tall order – except that is, when you make the person standing in front of the vending machine appear taller, thinner. Then they’re putty in your hands.

Clever – no?

Note: Above image courtesy of Getty images.