Saturday, March 20, 2010

Adventures in Laziness (with a moral)

I wore prescription glasses from the time I was two until I was thirteen, when my eyes were declared cured. This run of good eyesight lasted about fifteen years (and dovetailed nicely with The Vain Years: Dating and Early Marriage). By the time my opthamologist told me my run of luck had run out, I really didn't care so much about having to wear glasses.

I did have half-hearted fling with contacts, but my astigmatism made them feel exactly like wearing little slivers of glass in each eye.

My eyes, one of which is staunchly nearsighted while the other is perversely farsighted, have now deteriorated to the point where I have to shell out for prescription sunglasses, too.

Prescription sunglasses which I wear every day when I pick up Bug from school. You see, Bug's school has a policy where parents picking up children have to come into the school lobby to get their kids. It's a good policy, and I support it, but it does get a little tiresome having to find a parking spot and go into the lobby to retrieve her every day. And rather than carry my glasses case with me and switch out glasses for the thirty seconds I'm inside the school, I just shove my sunglasses to the top of my head when I walk in, scan quickly for the familiar outline of my kid, take her and leave.

Last Wednesday, I walked into the school lobby to pick up Bug and a friend. I saw Bug standing with her back to me looking up the main staircase, likely waiting for the friend to come down. I patted her head and tugged her ponytail lightly and said, "Hi, honey!" Then I stood with my hand on her shoulder and waited for the friend to come down the stairs.

Out of my peripheral vision, I could tell Bug was continuing to look up at me and not the stairs. Looking down at her, I saw that ... OH CRAP. This kid was not Bug at all. I removed my hand from the shoulder of the kid who was not Bug, but who was (in my defense) dressed in exactly the same bright green hoodie and navy capri sweatpants as Bug was wearing that day, not to mention being brown of hair and the same basic height.

"Heh, heh," I said, "I thought you were my kid." She gave me the weak smile you give the mentally unstable when you don't want to upset them. I took two non-threatening steps away to show that I was not the person they warn you about in the Stranger Danger talk.

Luckily for me, Bug came down the stairs right then, and I was able to show the Kid Who Was Not Bug that they were dressed exactly the same. And, wow, WASN'T THAT FUNNY! NOT WEIRD-FUNNY, BUT FUNNY-HA-HA?? Then I dragged Bug and her friend very quickly out of the building.

Moral: There's a reason why you wear prescription glasses, you dumbass.


Country Girl said...

That is funny! Nice to know others do crazy things as well!

smalltownmom said...

Totally understandable. But will you ever be able to enter the lobby again or has it traumatized you forever?

Jen on the Edge said...

I've had prescription sunglasses for over five years and have managed to lose two pairs already.

The first time, they were looped on the front of my shirt and I think they flew off as I was walking into the house and landed in a patch of pachysandra. I never found them.

A few months ago, I walked in the house and put my sunglasses on my desk (instead of in their case in my purse). I have yet to find them and we've actually taken that room apart and moved all the furniture and computers around.

Moral of the story: If my sunglasses are not on my face/head, I put them in their case in my purse.

For now, at least. I'll surely get lazy again and forget about the $200+ expense of replacing perfectly good sunglasses.

Green Girl in Wisconsin said...

I am LAUGHING SO HARD at this! Oh man. At least she didn't flip you over onto your back and run off screaming "You're not my mom!!!"

Cindy said...


Dawn in Austin said...

That is too funny. Luckily she didn't scream "STRANGER!"

I just last month got the transition lenses. I love them. I used to use the clip on sunglasses. So not stylish or cool walking out to the car trying to clip the shades on your glasses while holding shopping bags.