"You hang it here," said the mother, pointing to the wall above. "This mirror sees that mirror—haule!—multiply your peach-blossom luck."
The mother smiled, mischief in her eyes. "It is in here," she said, pointing to the mirror. "Look inside. Tell me, am I not right? In this mirror is my future grandchild, already sitting on my lap next spring."
"What is peach-blossom luck?"
"Wah!" cried the mother upon seeing the mirrored armoire in the master suite of her daughters new condominium. "You cannot put mirrors at the foot of the bed. All your marriage happiness will bounce back and turn the opposite way."
And the daughter looked—and haule!There it was: her own reflection looking back at her.
The mother frowned, reaching into her twice-used Macys bag. "Hunh, lucky I can fix it for you, then." And she pulled out the gilt-edged mirror she had bought at the Price Club last week. It was herhousewarming present. She leaned it against the headboard, on top of the two pillows.
"Well, thats the only place it fits, so thats where it stays," said the daughter, irritated that her mother saw bad omens in everything. She had heard these warnings all her life.
