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Last week when it was discovered that I had not, indeed, “blown my eye out”, or that I had NOT had a stroke, nor torn my retina, nor had an eye hemorrhage, there was great celebrating amongst everyone. Everyone that is, except for me. Because what everyone seemed to be overlooking, and all I could focus upon, was the fact that the doctor had released me from the eye hospital with a dose of eye antibiotics, and an order to wear my glasses for five days. “That’s really good news!” My hubby cheered me, when we were driving home in the car. I glared at that dude. Surely he did not hear the same news that I had. FIVE DAYS in my glasses? I know that it doesn’t speak well of me that this was all I could focus upon as we drove home from the hospital. Truly, I realize what a shallow, ridiculously vain person it makes me seem to be. However, the truth of the matter is- when it comes to wearing my glasses, I am horribly insecure. It goes back a long way. When I was in second grade I was perhaps the first child in school to need glasses. At that time, this seemed to me to be a GOOD thing. After all, with my snazzy new blue glasses, I could, well, SEE THE BOARD! I discovered a whole new world of vision and was really digging my cool blue glasses. Until… “FOUR EYES!” I cannot remember who tossed the taunt my way first. As “Four Eyes” I discovered that maybe, just maybe, it was NOT cool to wear glasses…. That wearing glasses is an embarrassing and shameful deal for those of us who are not genetically sound in the eye-al area. But I had no choice. I could not see without my glasses and my vision continued to deteriorate. In fifth grade, I had a beautiful blonde teacher. She looked like a Barbie doll… AND SHE WORE GLASSES! I was so excited to have such a gorgeous glasses wearing teacher that I got the exact same little wire rimmed glasses that she had. In my fifth grade picture, I have a real smile of self-confidence found through going “single white female” on my teacher. I believe that fifth grade picture may be the last known photo of me in glasses. In sixth grade, I re-discovered that being “four eyed” was for the decidedly duddly folks, and I put my glasses away. I spent the rest of my school days in a fog of myopia- unable to even greet my best friends in the hallway- so blurred was my vision. People who did not know me called me a snob, for I never recognized any person unless they were literally nose to nose with me. It was so worth it though; I was no longer “Four Eyes.” My two bad eyes squinted through high school until my parents finally agreed to get me contacts. It was obvious there was no other way I’d ever see another sight unless they caved. Ahhh, contacts. They changed my life once again. Now, not only could I SEE but I did not have to wear the cursed glasses. Through the years, I have made an uneasy truce with my vision… picking out the cutest possible glasses for those occasions when I need to go out in public in my glasses. Those “four-eyed” events, however, have always been far and few between, and there were some scenarios where I’d never be caught in my glasses. Going to the grocery store? Okay for glasses on a “sometimes” occasion. Going to church? Never, never, in glasses unless I was going at night to work with the kiddies. Going to the gym? You have got to be kidding me. So you see what I am getting at. These past four days of total glasses wearing hell have taken their toll on me. I feel like a four-eyed troll and it is not vanity but rather insecurity that has left me so bitter about my fate. As I trudge through what is left of my glasses-wearing sentence, I TRY to be grateful that I have not, indeed, blown my eye out, or suffered a stroke. I think I shall be much more grateful about my fate in a couple of days when I am four eyes no more.
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