[Faustus has expressed some concern that his soul mate might fall in love with the wrong blogger, so … be warned, soul mate. This is Milksop speaking. I think we might be allowed to mess around, but Faustus has clearly put the whole true love thing off limits. Whatever.]
I am newly bespectacled.
This is much more enormous than it seems, as I today realized I have had four (count ’em … four) pairs of prescription eyewear in my entire life. My first pair of glasses came, appropriately enough, in first grade. They were faux-gold-framed, and looked disturbingly like a smaller version of my father’s. Then, Dr. McGowan, eye doctor to the suburbanites, had the bright idea of fitting me for contacts. In second grade.
Pretty much kicked ass that day at show-and-tell, let me show-and-tell you.
I kept that first pair of glasses until sixth grade, when my head got too big for them. (Insert joke here.) Since I only wore them from bedroom to bathroom, the need to upgrade was not pressing. This set was a slightly larger set of the faux-gold, father-emulating pair. But still smaller.
This pair stayed with me through my sophomore year of undergrad, when my Mom got remarried, and my StepFather (how the heck do you capitalize that and not offend any family members?) brought in a replacement optician. McGowan, out. Johnson, in. Remarkable fellow, this Johnson. Convinces me to go with faux-gunmetal-silver instead of faux-gold. (At least, I assume it was faux-gunmetal. Growing up in the South, anything is possible.) These glasses stayed with me until today, when I picked up my hip, hep black-framed faux-Weezer-lead-singer glasses.
So, class, if I had the first pair five years, and the second pair eight years, and the third pair thirteen years … how old will I be when I retire pair number four?