Don’t worry, I only let him wear theses for >10 seconds, for fear of his eyeballs fleeing their sockets in fear.
I really botched the Great Glasses Getting project of 2010. They don’t work at all. I mean, yes – they enhance my vision. But not without major side effects. Such as:
- Unless I’m sitting stalk-still, it appears that I’m peering out of a fish bowl. Everything is curved. I can’t remember if convex or concave is the word I’m looking for, and to be honest, I’m too busy thinking of when I’m going to get to the cemetery today to worry too much about dictionary.com’ing that shit.
- Saturday morning, I had the brilliant idea of writing in my blog while glassed. Thought it would be good practice, train my eyes to be more like those of goldfish. It was worse than trying to type without any visual aid at all! Every time I attempted to glance down at the keyboard, I’d recoil in horror because the fingers tapping along the keys looked like they belonged to tiny (not yet dead) Jon Benet Ramsey hands. EVERYTHING IS MINIATURIZED IF I LOOK DOWN, WHAT THE FUCK.
- Sunday morning was the food test. If I could EAT with the green monstrosity perched on my nose bridge, I could be convinced to keep trying these frustrating exercises. A simple bowl of cereal – Honey Bunches of Oats, if you need to know for your case study – was all I was trying to conquer. Thanks to my inability to look down, my chin, cleavage, and the person I keep chained under the computer desk all thanked me for the lovely breakfast.
So the search continues. I might suck it up and ask a professional for help. I mean an eye doctor, not a psychiatrist, though I’ve got one of them on speed dial too.
In the meantime, I’m popping the lenses out and keeping the frames as a hot accessory. (When I said that to one of the guys at work, he pantomimed putting them on as pants. I was a little insulted. They’re not that big!) Now Alisha will definitely be wanting me to accompany her to the gay bar all night, every night.