Showing posts with label Molly Ringwald. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Molly Ringwald. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

I'll fix them. I'll wear my Sunglasses at night...and every other minute of the day!

Good afternoon all!

There probably should be a warning with this post, but since I know my friend Tag is hanging in Vegas with my friend Lovie I don't have to worry about him reading the post and commenting about female grossness.  Then again...Lovie reads the blog, too.

Anyway, most of my life I've worn glasses.  Since I was thirteen, when my parents were convinced the reason I was failing algebra was because I couldn't see the blackboard, I've worn glasses.  (For the record...the reason I was failing algebra is because I'm mentally deficient when it comes to math more advanced than fourth grade...oh, and I'd just fallen in love for the first time and so who cares about solving for X when all you want to do is XOXOXOXOX?)

Oddly enough, as restrictive as my parents were about pretty much every single aspect of my life, I had almost complete freedom when it came to my glass frames.  There was always a price restriction, of course, but as long as the frames were on the bargain rack, I could get whatever I wanted.

Over the years I developed a very definite style.  Round.  Wire.  Granted, in 1989 my glasses were roughly the size of saucers...and I'm talking about the ones you use to sled down icy hills.  But since then, round, wire frames have been my go to style and yes, they've gotten smaller over the years.  So much so that my most recent pair, purchased three years ago, were too small.  My field of vision was impaired.  (okay, I had to look WAY down to see my hymnal in church, making my extra couple chins more pronounced.)


No, not that kind of Progressive.
So recently Hubby announced it was TIME FOR AN EYE CHECK UP.  He and Peaches went, then it was my turn.  (Skippy lucked out of this because, well, he seems to be blessed with either perfect vision or complete denial.)  Hubby came home with something called...PROGRESSIVE LENS. 

He did not like them.  So he went back to get BI-FOCALS.  And when he went back, he took me along for an eye check.

I don't hate the eye doctor.  I'm just really, really sick of going to medical professionals who do little more than charge me a ton of money and leave me in worse shape than I was before I walked in.  But hey, I was squinting at things a lot more than normal, and it had been three years.

So I went to the eye doctor.  And she told me that I needed PROGRESSIVE LENS.  I said, "No, I do not want them.  My husband could not stand them.  They made him sick and he could not see properly.  I will take the bifocals."

The eye doctor said, "One person in thousands does not like PROGRESSIVE LENS.  Clearly your husband is that one person.  You will like them.  Wait and see."


I suddenly felt like I was in a Dr. Seuss book.

I said, fine I would try the PROGRESSIVE LENS.  And thusly, while my eyes were dilating, we went out to pick out frames.  It was a slow day I guess because both of the glass ladies, the eye doctor, and my husband decided to take a hand in picking out my glass frames.  I held up several that I liked.  Wire frames, round. 

They all shook their heads.

I really wanted to change, though.  Since I've gotten a bit more fluffy, my head is too big for most wire frames and so when I sweat, which is pretty often, I get those weird green marks on my head.  So I was looking for maybe something in a plastic frame.  And I found some glasses I really, really liked. 

"No,"  said one of the ladies.  "We will not sell you those glasses."

I picked out about seven pairs of frames, a couple of which I actually liked.  The one thing I did say was that I didn't care for dark frames and I really didn't like the kind of glasses that didn't have a frame all the way around the lens.  And I wanted a bigger lens than what I had because I wanted a broader field of vision. At some point, while my eyes were dilated and I couldn't see clearly, one of the four pulled a pair of frames off the rack and put them on my face.  Everyone cheered.  THESE ARE THE FRAMES!

They picked out dark frames, with a smaller lens, square, and oh yeah, the frames don't go all the way around the lens.

Now you might think I'm pathetic for letting them pick out my glasses for me, especially since I'm not wild about them. But see, there's always a funny part to every story, and this pathetic tale of a fat blind woman going to the eye doctor and being nudged into dark hipster Progressive lens glasses does have a funny part.

I picked them up today.  Anyone out there have Progressive Lens?  Let me tell you something about these lens.  You have to sort of shake your head to find the right spot to actually see whatever it is you're looking at.  Oh, and with Progressive Lens, you have a more skewed vision side to side so if you want to see something next to you, you have to turn your head to see it clearly.

Show of hands...who remembers what injury Sarah got in the car accident...and what part of her body has been getting treated for said injury for nearly a year?

Yes...SARAH CAN'T MOVE HER HEAD BACK AND FORTH WITHOUT GREAT PAIN.

Oh, but this gets funnier, trust me.

So I pick up the glasses and decide I'm going to wear them around the store. I have to pick up a couple things.  Now, wearing new glasses tends to disorient you a little bit.  Things are brighter, your eyes are focused weirdly.  And now, picture having TWO prescriptions in one lens and having to bounce your head and look back and forth to actually see something.

And now, put a fat, sweaty girl in this sense of disorientation into the PUNCTUATION PROTECTION AISLE.

So there I was bouncing my head up and down and moving side to side because I can't turn my head very well. All I wanted to do was pick up some female punctuation protection and scuttle to the ice cream aisle where I would drown my sorrows in a box of frozen something.  But no, this monthly trip down the aisle always takes me a while...and that's without having to "Adjust my set" as it were.

So after a very fun, headache and neck ache inducing ten minutes in the punctuation aisle, I staggered to the frozen foods section and picked up...I have no idea what.  At that point I just grabbed a couple boxes and made for the door.

At least, and here's the silver lining, the Fab Four let me pick out my own sunglasses.  I got the most fantastic Molly Ringwald gigantic round frames in a beautiful iced teal.  I look like Malibu Barbie...if Malibu Barbie ever
got fat and middle aged and drove an Imapala.  But those glasses, those are my happy glasses and I might just wear my sunglasses at night...and during the day...and in the office...and reading...and at church because my field of vision is HUGE and they aren't Progressive Lens and I LOVE THEM!


Yep, it's just gonna be me, singing Corey Hart songs, and wearing my pretty sunglasses.  And I won't have to turn to see anything because those lenses are so huge...I can almost see behind myself!


Friday, July 2, 2010

When did I become the parent in a John Hughes film?

Good morning!

So this weekend Hubby and I will be trekking across the state to attend his 25th high school class reunion.  (And in answer to your question, no I'm not going to mine. If you read this blog long enough you'll know why, but for now let's just say it's not going to happen.)

At any rate, we're leaving Skippy and Peaches home alone.  Well, Skippy will be at Summerfest or working most of the weekend and Peaches is actually staying with a friend, but stopping in to check on Kit-Ten.  Still, they will have no direct parental supervision for two solid days.

This is the first time we've left the area code for more than twenty hours.  Oddly enough I wasn't nervous about it...until I recalled all the John Hughes movies I watched in my teens.

For those of you who don't know or don't remember, the recently passed Mr. Hughes wrote and directed some of the cornerstone teen films of a generation.  "Pretty in Pink"  "Breakfast Club"  "Sixteen Candles"  "Ferris Buehler's Day off."  All his.  All genius.  All a perfect slice of teen life pie...

I've memorized those films and in all of them I'm Molly Ringwald.  (Well, except for Ferris Buehler...she's not in that.)  I'm the quirky, pretty, misunderstood teen who has to make her way through life...in spite of her really pretty terrible parents. 

John Hughes, when he did address parents in his films, was not kind.  He wrote parents from a teen's point of view:  Stupid, uncool, controlling, absent, bumbling, well meaning, forgetful, and out of touch with what's vital.

Pretty much how my kids view me.

Wait...what?

When did I become the parent in a John Hughes film?  I'm not the parent!  I'm Molly stinkin' Ringwald!  I'm pretty in pink...I sew my own clothes.  I eat birthday cake while sitting on top of a dining room table.  I am the misunderstood popular girl who can apply lipstick with my cleavage!

(Okay, that last thing...I can't even apply lipstick with my hands, and I was NEVER the popular girl...if you're watching "Breakfast Club" and you wonder who I was...two words...Brian Johnson.  Yep, the nerd.  The grade obsessed geek.  Minus the interest in math.  But I did own a terrible green sweatshirt.)

Still, when did this happen?

Oh yeah...right about the time I decided to have kids.

The minute you become a parent, your "Cool, with it" meter starts dropping.  Oh sure, until the kid is seven, you rule.  You can drive, you know how to order stuff at the drive up window, you know what the phone number for the pizza place is.  You can make a clock work by putting in a fresh battery!  YOU ARE AWESOME!

But someplace between 7 and 11, that awesomeness dies a little bit each day.  By the time a child is twelve, the only reason he/she will be seen with you is because you can drive.  By the time they're 13, they'd rather ride their bike or walk, thank you.  By the time they're driving, they'd like to pretend they don't have parents.

And so, with one driver and one bike rider in the house, I'm the absent, uncool, out of touch parent.  In spite of my best efforts, I've become that mom.  All the trips to the pool, the ice cream I've bought, the sleepovers I've hosted, the trips to Great America...all for naught.  They are teens, and that makes me the parent of teens.

So I'm going to my husband's class reunion.  I'm leaving the kids alone for the weekend.  In my head there will be a party ala "Sixteen Candles" and when I return I'll find a geeky freshman trapped in my coffee table.  My wine cellar will be destroyed, and there will be traces of birthday cake on my dining room table.

Oh wait...I don't have a wine cellar.  I don't even have a dining room table!

Okay then...I've got that going for me, I guess!



 

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