By emily

GRADE: A/F

Back in college (or ‘discussion hour’ as I am coming to think of it), one of my least favorite topics was always ‘the world is nothing more or less than our perception of it,’ which some Matrix-loving asshole would always find a way to drag into the conversation. (Also bad: ‘What is art?’).

However, it has recently come to my attention that, um, the world is . . . nothing more or less than our perception of it. For real! I found this out when finally, after maybe three or four years of procrastinating, I went ahead and saw an eye doctor.

It turns out that it is not normal to only have a vague idea of what you’re ordering (“Uh, I’ll have the . . . . #4?” ) when selecting from the lighted signboard at It’s A Wrap. It turns out that it is a huge miracle that I haven’t been hit by a bus. Yes, I once was lost, etc, etc, was blind, but now I see. And omigod, look at all this stuff! Since when have there been people on that roof across the street from my office building, sunning themselves in deck chairs in the middle of the day? Also, since when has everyone had such bad skin? I was really giving you all the benefit of the doubt, it seems.

Being able to see fucking rocks. It is so awesome. It’s changing my whole worldview, for lack of a less dumb way of putting it.

The price of this exquisite privilege, however, is big-time inconvenience. That ad featuring a member of the supposed band Lillix makes getting contacts seem really liberating and fun; I assure you that it is not. There’s really no getting around the grossness and creepiness of having a little sliver of plastic stuck to your eyeball. The other option of course is glasses. I kind of like the idea of glasses, and of being a glasses-wearing girl, but you have to admit that there’s a little bit of a stigma there. I don’t care so much about the men not making passes, but I do care about being perceived as even more of a dork than I already am. Or as even more of a young professional. But I think I am going to have to start wearing the glasses anyway, because the other day I was trying to get one of the contacts out and I had a terror-fraught twenty minutes of being almost sure that the slippery little varmint had somehow gotten lost on the wrong side of my eye socket, and that I was destined to go down in urban legend as the girl who was blinded and killed by an errant contact lens in the brain. (Please don’t write and tell me that there’s no way this can happen. I know that. I may be blind, but I’m not retarded.)

Sigh. Glasses. I am trying to think of a glamorous glasses-wearing celebrity and the best I can come up with is Lisa Loeb. You said that I was naïve, oh, but I thought that I was strong . . .