Judge, 1927-04-30 · page 8 of 36
Judge — April 30, 1927 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Mirror" by Stanley Jones — Analysis This satirical piece explores male vanity and the shock of aging. The narrator notices his wife Mary developing gray hair and wrinkles, triggering an existential crisis. While she's visibly aging, he still imagines himself in his prime—"like a man of thirty," as doctors supposedly said. His agitation leads him to physically collide with a young man on the street. Rather than fight back, the youth expresses puzzlement, calling him "an old guy"—the ultimate insult. The narrator flees in humiliation. The joke targets male self-delusion: he expected his wife alone to age while he remained youthful. The street collision serves as a harsh mirror reflecting reality. The accompanying cartoon about a couple worried they'll resemble each other after marriage reinforces the theme: time and marriage inevitably change us all, regardless of vanity. The satire mocks masculine denial about aging and mortality.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE Mirror It comes with something of a shock—the realization that one’s wife is not the same apple- cheeked nymph that led you to the altar, years and years ago. Seeing one another every day tends to inure one to an image which changes slowly, if at all. Hence— It was with a sudden and vio- lent start, not untinged with sad- ness, that I noted more than a sprinkling of g in Mary’s raven tresses last evening, as she knitted a stocking cap for little Joe beneath the bridge lamp. “Why,” I gasped to myself, “imagine it! Mary—of all peo- ple—” Again I scrutinized her calm features, with a peering fur- tiveness entirely foreign to my real nature. Yes, by Jove, there was even an etching of faint lines here and there. . I jumped up, with a shudder. “Don’t forget your muffler, dear,” her gentle voice warned as I struggled into my coat. I had to get out in the air... the realization that my wife was at last beginning to surrender, while I was still in the fresh bloom of —— SSSSSSS SSSSS Y/ Yr , W444 “Arabella, do you suppose if we got married we'd end up by looking like each other, the way they say people do?” life—“like a man of thirty!” the doctors said. Down the dark streets I strode, thoughts rioting in chaos. I was scarcely conscious of my progress - at any rate, I collided with “What's the matter with your arm?” “The osteopath tied a knot in it so I wouldn’t forget my appointment with him next Wednesday.” someone very hard and unyield- ing. “Why don’t you watch your ?” I snarled, picking up my y “Think you own the street? Bashing into people . . . got a good notion to hand you one in... Then I became aware that he was quite young, and broad, with a hard face and a chill eye. He seemed to be regarding me with a curious compound of resent- ment, curiosity, and perplexity. Two or three pedestrians hung hopefully about. Then the young man scratched his ear, and re- marked: “By George, you've certainly got me puzzled. I don’t quite know what do of course, I'd simply give you a smack in the eye, if you weren’t such an old guy.” With a smothered cry, I fled down the street. It comes with something of a shock. —Srtaniey Jones eRe There’s no such pedestrian ever street. thing as a being on easy comicbooks.com