Mrs S has spent some time over the years coaching me on the proper way to wear glasses. I’ve worn glasses over the years, started with just reading, now it’s everything except long distance stuff. When you’re farsighted and therefore can’t see things that are in close proximity, like a printed page or the face of loved one coming in for a peck on the cheek, you learn to adjust as best you can with your corrective lenses, looking over the top of the them at objects far away. Makes sense to me.
That is, after all what bifocals are all about.
But I don’t wear bifocals. Old guys wear bifocals. I just need them for reading and when you’re talking to me from across the table I don’t need them, so I’m going to look at you, because beholding your beauty dear, drinking in every subtlety in your expression, gazing directly into your deep blue eyes, not only bring me immense joy, but it meets your directive to “look at me when I’m talking to you”. Which I do. And I do it because, your gende, my love, likes to leave out the most important aspects of a conversation until you’re sure I’m not looking at you, or like all men see something shiny or shapely out of the corner of my eye and turn my attention there, if only for a moment.
As I recall, you said to me, Look at me.. You did not say look at me unless you are going to look at me over your damn glasses. Apparently when I look at her over my damn glasses, I look O L D. Like her grandfather used to do. The solution either look at the blurry spot where her voice is coming from, or take them off to talk to her, and put them back on, when I’m reading. Now this last method, is somewhat helpful when I want to emphasize my interest in some point she’s making. Usually because, I think it would make it appear that I am fascinated in what she’s saying and hanging on every word. 25 years in, I still may not know what she’s talking about much of the time, but I do know when I should look interested. (That goes for the kids too)
So in a typical Saturday breakfast conversation my glasses may come on and off 100 times. This is what my Mother would do. Glass ON, Glass OFF. Glass on to read, glass off to talk. In Mom’s case, glasses are a secret that she pretends you don’t know about. She won’t look at you directly with them for some reason because they might make her look old. Um ‘er’
The other problem with glasses and Sank is my nose. It’s small, like my hands and my feet and …
I gotta small nose and like everyone’s damn nose, at times, she’s a bit slick. So, by the end of the day, spectacles can slide down a bit. And, since I want them down a bit anyway, I don’t notice. And then, I look over them and then everyone gets on my case. Including, btw, the three women who work for me who like stop conversations to say, “either push up your glasses or take’m off. Over the top is unbecoming a leader with your talents”.
Fine. I’ll take them off. You know, I suggested to my wife, what I should do is get one of those handy dandy chains to keep them on so when I take them off I don’t have to set them down. That, apparently, would be deal breaker that would preclude all further public appearances with me. I’d be going solo to most events.. Is it wrong to thing that might not be a bad thing.
“Sank, you need some new damn glasses” is what she’s say’n. Okie dokie.. New glasses it is.
Well after the Dermatologist told me that I could get melanoma in my eye and that I should have them checked annually, I was in the Optometrists office that afternoon. Really. Clear bill of health except.. you need stronger bifocals.
Being loaded, money being no object, I went for the progressive lenses. Really nice ones. I don’t know what progressive lenses really are, I know what a progressive dinner is. I think progressive lenses are sort of the same thing. I wear a lens that has little areas of entirely different focus. That’s the only way I can explain it. Depending on where you look, you see things in focus, or not in focus. So far.. it’s a dizzying experience. What I’m finding myself doing is now is cocking my head like a dog listening to a silent whistle when ever I want to look at something, I’m looking for that perfect spot of clarity. Not unlike my life long search for perfect clarity, only in this case it comes at weird angles.
The good news on the new glasses, I also didn’t spare any expense on frames. Ray-Bans. Goodness knows I love me some Ray-Bans. Ray-Ban Clubmaster. OMG.. I’ve loved clubmasters since my high school shop teacher wore them in the late 70’s. They were old then. Well they’ve been off the market for years and now they’re back and I’m wear’n them. I’ve been looking for them for 20 years I kid you not.
Picked ‘um up yesterday. Got some looks and some compliments. My daughter however, burst into uncontrollable laughter and asked “Did you BUY Those?” I look like Noah Bennet from Heroes, The Man in the Horned Rimmed Glasses aka HRG. I have horned rim glasses. Apparently they match my 50’s buzz cut well. Today, while wearing them, and staring at my computer, and moving my head around trying get more than the one word I was looking at in focus, apparently they slid down Mont Sank, the nose. One of the ladies came in and made the comment “Hey if that’s how you’re going wear the new glasses, you need to go back and get them adjusted. “WE” didn’t send you to get new glasses to have you wear them on the tip of your nose.
WE? Who is we? Your wife and your team.
Which makes me wonder, exactly what am I in control of in my life?