Fractal Realities: Reflections

I keep only one mirror in the house and I'm not entirely sure why. I should have destroyed it when I destroyed all the others. It's an antique hand mirror that's been in the family for four or five generations at least. Perhaps I value that link to my past but I've never thought of myself as that sentimental.

When I look into the mirror, I know I'm supposed to be looking at my own face, but I don't even recognize it most of the time. What I see is unpredictable. The face that regards me might be of any age, any race, any appearance, and of either sex. The only thing that the faces all seem to have in common is their facial expression and that is universally one of bemusement, even when the face is actually mine. The mirror doesn't amuse me. Because of that, on those rare times I recognize myself, I doubt that it is a real reflection.

I struggle with what this means. Even though I have a clear concept of my appearance, I can no longer trust my own reflection. What if I'm wrong and the mirror is true?