I got glasses the other day for the first time in 14 years. I have a slight astigmatism, which causes things to just be a little blurry. I rarely notice it, so the glasses aren’t terribly necessary. Except when I read—which I do daily. Since my prescription is not strong, I tend to forget that I need them. I can see just fine, but my world is slightly fuzzy. Wearing my glasses is like turning the lens on a camera until it just snaps into focus.
I kept readjusting them, trying to figure out why they looked crooked when they were brand new and perfectly straight on the table. I mentioned that to my mom when she called. She says “Oh, your dad has that problem too because one of his ears is higher than the other.” Great—more shitty genes from Dad’s side. Sure enough, my right ear sits slightly higher than the left. It is not that noticable—I’ve gone 28 years without cursing Dad for that particular feature. It’s just enough that my glasses are offset. So much for blaming cheap, Dollar Tree sunglasses all these years.
I get all the worst features from my dad’s family—Picasso ears, the bump on my nose (which I now draw attention away from with my pretty, pretty purple gem), oily hair that nearly always looks wet, and big boobs. If you don’t think that one is a bad thing, you have clearly never attempted to cram jumbo balloons into an elastic cup.
Luckily, the good genes seem to be filtering down to the girls. I never really thought they look like me, but I apparently have some looks in there somewhere. I walked into Meet the Teacher Night a few days ago and the teacher said immediately “You must be Stacia’s mom!” I was early, so it wasn’t because she was the only choice left. I wasn’t wearing the soccer mom button with her picture on it. She just saw Stacia when I walked in the room. I was stunned silent for a second because I’ve always been told they look just like their daddy.
Maybe I should check their ears.
