I am part of the unfortunate nearsighted majority. I’ve worn contact lenses since I was in middle school at my mother’s urging (probably because my spectacles did no favors for my then-gangly, dorky exterior). Whereas glasses can be associated with cool, urban hipsters, a bespectacled me more or less resembles a mean librarian.
Though obviously discouraged, I often wear contact lenses for 14 hours a day from within 15 minutes of waking up until I come home at night because I like taking full advantage of my peripheral vision, especially when ascending or descending stairs of any appreciable length. Upon a thorough visual inspection, the optometrist observed that my eyes are “very healthy” and my prescription has decreased for the second year in a row. Booyah, as Mark Cramer would say.
Making small talk is my instinctive way of allaying the awkwardness of being in a small, dimly lit room with a relative stranger staring into my eyeball. Like a moth to a flame, I often find myself in awkward conversations and situations. Fortunately, all my optometrists have been no more socially adept than I am.
|My Words with Friends drawing (circa Summer 2012)|