Gimme A Sign

The question I think I hate the most is:

Can I see your glasses?

Yes, just look at my face.
Oh! You meant, can I remove my security blanket, the small piece of equipment worn over my eyes that help me see five inches in front of my face, so you can put your fingerprints and facial grease all over it, blink sporadically through the lenses, and make any one of these ignorant comments:

Wow! Your eyes really are bad!

Do these make me look smarter?

Can you see now?

Yes, dipshit, my eyes really are that bad. I tried to explain that to you during the fifteen minutes you asked to see my glasses. I’ve needed a progressively stronger prescription every year since I was nine years old.
No, you don’t look smarter, you bimbo. You look ridiculous, squinting through my grandma glasses.
Go ahead, ask me one more time if I can see without my prescription glasses. And then I’ll ask you the same question after I’ve smacked that shit eating grin off your face.

So, as you’ve probably deduced, my glasses are beyond important to me. You can see how I react when I’m pressed and pressured into handing them over to a friend for five minutes.
Now imagine me losing them…

I’m usually pretty good at remembering where I’ve put them down before bed, a shower, makeup application…sex.
But, let’s go back, before face paint and intercourse, to junior high. The pressure to fit in is already on full blast from every direction. La-dee-da me takes my glasses off for a shower and sets them down in a spot I don’t normally leave them in. And when I walk back into my room, I can’t see a damn thing, and I’ve completely forgotten where I’ve set my vision enhancers.
First, there’s panic. The kind you get in that split second before the big drop on a roller coaster, where you feel like someone has reached their arm down your throat and taken a hold of your stomach. I’m zooming around my room looking in every place I’ve left them before. A good minute or two passes and I’ve moved beyond panic.
Cue sheer terror. The kind that makes your life flash before your eyes.


Or at least for twenty minutes while my family helps me look for my better set of eyeballs. I won’t be able to see anything. People will laugh at me. I will be embarrassed.
And then come the tears. At least the beginnings of it. Now I’m just incredibly sad.
I’m begging God, Please help me…please I need my glasses! I need my…

Oh, there they are.


3 thoughts on “Gimme A Sign

  1. This! People who don’t wear glasses will never understand the struggle! I lose mine ALL THE TIME. Nothing is more frustrating than looking for your glasses when YOU CAN’T SEE ANYTHING WITHOUT YOUR GLASSES. Sorry that was years of pent up frustration coming out there.

    1. Oh don’t worry, I hear you. And they are so bewildered when I don’t just willingly hand them over. I really don’t want my glasses passed around the room. It’s hard enough to see you sitting right next to me without them. I almost always put them down on my bed or on a pile of clothes. Bad idea. Too many colors and patterns, and then I’m feeling around in the mound like you see nerdy kids do in the movies. IDEA! Tracking devices on your glasses!

      1. Yeah my friends and family want to try on my glasses all the time. They don’t understand that all I think about is them dropping them or scratching the lenses. I need theses things to navigate the world around me! I agree about the tracking device, I wish it was like when I lose my phone. I wish I could just call them or something and follow the ringing until I find them.

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