Four Eyes

In the three-ish years I’ve known my husband, he’s had three pairs of glasses.

This is not because he’s really into eye exams or new frames.

No.

Its because things keep breaking them.

The first pair — totally my fault. I stepped on them. I’m usually quick to remind him though that he left them on the floor by our bed. He’s also quick to point out he did so during a moment of … er, passion. But, whatever. Who puts glasses on the floor?!

The sad part is, as I stepped on them I thought, “I’m about to walk on his glasses,” and then I did it anyway.

So I snapped them in half.

His replacement pair seemed to be working out pretty well, and then one day, the dog jumped in his lap, kissed is face, and they just broke. The literally just fell off his face as soon as she licked him.

So then he got a new pair at one of those kind-of-shady-but-we-take-your-insurance places in the mall.

And slowly, the finish on his right lens started to crack. It looked like a speck at first — but over time it spread out across the entire lens.


Now people stop him all the time and ask him if he knows his glasses are cracked.

Uhh, yeah. He does. You’re the 500th person who’s said something. This week.

Which is how we ended up in a LensCrafters in a mall in Kansas.

And since we covered our enormous deductible already (thanks, fertility treatments!), we both decided to get eye exams since we don’t have to pay for them. And then we ended up with new glasses. Giiiiirlllll, mine are Prada!

This was only 20 minutes after I had a pseudo-doctors appointment. I had to find a lab to do more fertility-related blood work.

In Kansas.

Weirdest vacation, ever.

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