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Keep Moving Forward: Glasses Edition

My glasses are half of my identity. When someone describes me I’m sure it goes something like this “Allison is about this tall (hand gesture) has red hair most of the time, wears big burgundy glasses and usually wearing something with Harry Potter on it. Glasses? No, haven’t seen her?”

I fiddle with them, I push them up my nose, I hide behind them, I wear them a certain way so my long eyelashes don’t hit them and I got them so big because I need them to see far so I wanted Full Screen and Wide Screen.

Tomorrow I’m taking away half of my identity.

Jason Bourne-ing myself.

I’m not scared to have a laser beam shot at my face. I really, really want to become an

X-men and that’s pretty much the closest I’ll ever get. The surgery doesn’t scare me. It’s my life without my glasses that is making me have mini anxiety attacks.

Now not only will I have to protect my eyes even more, but I’m uncovering my faces flaws. (Or rather, my perceived flaws from the stand point of the only person who really sees my face up close and personal.)

Here I am debating back and forth on whether I really want to risk people seeing my real face. Do I want everyone to know my feelings the second they happen? Because they shoot out of my eyes like lasers and the only thing that was keeping me from being found out was the cover these monsters gave me?

So this is where I stand.

Clark Kent about to be Superman.

Putting a lot of pressure on myself here, haha. I will not be leaping over tall buildings, stopping planes, or saving civilians, but I will be losing a big chunk of my armour.

Here is my Ode to my glasses on our last day together:

Thank you for covering up everything I wanted to keep secret. From stray eyebrow hairs to botched eyeliner attempts. From feelings of embarrassment to those of anger, love, annoyance, and humiliation. Thank you for allowing me to play hide and seek with my emotions. Thank you for guarding my eyes against being head butted by dogs, poked in the eye by children, and hitting myself in the face while trying to put on coats, purses, scarves, and hats. Thank you for blocking that time Syd actually did punch me in the face by accidentally mismeasuring her own arm, it only hurt a little. (I still think she really meant to.) Thank you for blocking that football in the 9th grade when some asshole on the bus threw it to his friend and nailed me in the face, I’m sure I would’ve had a black eye. Which you would’ve covered anyway. Thank you for jazzing up my outfits all these years.

Thank you for your 20-year tour of duty.

Now here are the things I won’t miss about you:

Fogging up during temperature changes.

Fogging up when I open an oven.

Getting caught in my hair.

Making it impossible to put on a sweater without getting trapped.

Sliding down my face when I work out.

Smudged mascara lines.

Not being able to lie on my side to watch a movie.

The appeal you have to children who think it’s a good idea to pull my eyesight off my face.

Dog snot streaks.

Not being able to see when swimming.

Being called “Four eyes” by people who think they are being clever. (I’ve had glasses since I was 8, not original.)

Hairspray marks that are impossible to get off. (Only recently discovered washing them with shampoo works.)

When you fall off my face when I bend to pick something up.

Those teeny tiny screws coming loose.

When I hug someone and you get caught in THEIR hair.

When I hug someone and you get pushed to the side.

Not being able to wear sunglasses.

Making the following things hell: Rollercoasters, swimming, and 3D movies.

Thank you, but now my undercover mission is finished.

I’ll be moving forward.

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