I have a very dysfunctional relationship with my glasses. I despise them, but I also need them. They abuse me by slipping down at the worst possible moments, causing disgusting amounts of unnecessary acne on my nose, and (occasionally) giving me migraines. As a teenager, I recognized this unhealthy relationship for what it was and so replaced my glasses with contacts.
(Thanks again for that, Mom.)
My glasses figured that I’d come back. And I do. For very, very brief flings before bed each night. And sometimes first thing in the morning. But never for longer than half an hour. I wouldn’t be sucked in again.
Then I got pink eye.
Clearly, my glasses are plotting against me. If I wouldn’t come back of my own accord, they would make my relationship with my contacts poisonous; nay, impossible. Then I’d be back.
So I had to go back to my glasses for. an. entire. month. I loathed every minute of it. I had to double check who the heck it was I was seeing every time I walked past a mirror. The dreaded problem spots of acne returned. My depth perception, always iffy, made me start thinking that not only were the objects closer than they appeared but they were right in my face. Driving at night was a lot of fun because all the lights were soft and beautiful… except it makes it hard to see where you ought to be when the cars in front of you meld into one shiny, fuzzy-looking blob. My ninja-like periferal vision was all but gone, which makes for a really lame ninja who jumps every time the dog walks past.
I spent a lot of time making sure I was kissing the right man before letting DB get too close.
But spending an entire month with the glasses, well… I have to admit, maybe it’s not so bad. I can do without peripheral vision. And depth perception. And really, when you think about it, the street lamps look kinda pretty at night, all fuzzy and glowy.
Maybe… maybe I should give the glasses a second chance…