Too far....

I can't take the tanginess that is Pinky. He has gone so far as to wear glasses that have pink "arms" - light pink on the inside and hot fuchsia on the inside. I'ma need his wife to write a book, a step-by step guide on how the hell she convinces this grown ass "straight" man to walk out of his townhouse looking like a bottle of pepto bismol. Forget the CIA, send this chick overseas to find the terrorists. Apparently, she knows how to make men do exactly whateva she liiiikes (paraphrasing TI right here...hahahaha).

I was in the process of writing another blog, when Pinky walked in all his pinktastic ghey glory. You didn't think the nonsense stopped at the pink eyeglasses did you??? Once again this fool is wearing a pink sweater, with a pink button up underneath. With these DAMN GLASSES. We had a brief meeting and all I could think was 'damn you look like a ghey pink panther". (Sidebar: now that I'm forced to think about it, I don't think the pink panther was ghey. his music was too cool - perfect for mackin' the ladies! ahahahaha) I find myself punking his pink ass and I have to check myself. But come on, how much respect can I muster when he has worn more pink in the past 2 months than I have worn in a lifetime???? AND I'M A GIRL!!!! hhahahahhaaa

maybe I'll post later, maybe I won't. But I couldn't keep all of the gheylike shenanigans of Pinky to myself.

Sulking

to say something out loud puts some truth to it. so I guess I need to face my reality. I'm not going to homecoming this year. I've been planning on going to homecoming for months. But due to circumstances called life, my friends aren't able to attend. I'm not angry. Just disappointed. I haven't seen my roomie and my other friends in years. We speak regularly on the phone (well my roomie and I) but hanging out and reminiscing live and in living color can't be beat. Walking the yard in our Hampton uniform - fitted jeans, cute fitted shirt/tee/sweater, blazer, and hot heels. Running into old flames and crushes and laughing at how intense and urgent our feelings were back then. Catching up with former classmates and dormmates. Seeing how grown up we really are (or aren't...hahahahah). Cheering at the game - rocking the blue and white; shakin', shakin' SHAKE DEEES (you have to have to be a Hampton alum in order to appreciate this...hahahaha). I wanna see the half-time show and hear what songs by the Temptations or the O'Jays that the band will play (again have to be a Hampton Alum to get that joke too...basically, they never play current music during half-time at homecoming - only music that the old heads can reminisce to; LOL). I wanna go to the parties. Get all dressed up, so my haters can hate and the admirers can........well admire. LOL

Sure I could roll solo as I'm sure I'll run into old friends and acquaintances but that's too much of a high risk investment. And the cost would fall squarely on my shoulders. No fun in that.

I wanna stomp my feet and throw a grown up size temper tantrum. I might even through myself on the floor and roll around until I get my way like "some" kids do. Its not fair! Its not fair!! I wanna go! Did I mention that Baskin Robbins will be there? While he's not my sole reason for wanting to go, it's definitely an added perk. I haven't seen him in a couple of months (no I didn't write about it) but it would be nice to at least see him and chat it up face to face.

I'm going in the corner to sulk now (some more).

Last Night Beyonce saved my life.....

Friday night. Friend's 30th birthday bash. VIP.

While I was certainly having fun in VIP, I can never stay in one spot too long. Especially if I haven't walked around and thoroughly surveyed the crowd. I need to be amongst the people, even if that means becoming a dance floor contortionist to get through the crowd. So I make my way down from the VIP perch to mingle. Actually, first I went to tinkle, then I went to mingle. I make my way through the crowd and I get the hand pull. You know when you walk by and some dude you didn't even see grabs your hand and tries to pull you back over to him?? Yeah that. I gave the "sorry, charlie but I don't wanna dance with you" half grin, half head shake and kept it moving. As I'm making my way from the bar back to VIP I feel someone pluck me HARD on my bare arm. I turn around with the "what the fuck" fire in my eye, ready to curse someone OUT. That shit hurt!!!! LOL
When I turn in the direction of the pluck, I see a chick who looks just as stunned as me and then above her I see a dude laughing his ass off. That's when it registered. I know this fool.

Rewind 7 years. It was around early April. I was hanging out with my girls. All of us single and dressed to party. I don't remember why we were hanging out. Back then we didn't need a reason, we just partied alll the time (cue Eddie Murphy..hahaha). The party wasn't packed so my girls and I had plenty of room to do what we do best - dance to our hearts content and clown folks in between songs. I was standing in a circle with friends laughing about some clown that tried to holla at a friend by the bar, when this guy just stepped in the middle of the circle, grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. My girls and I were stunned. Partly because he was so bold with it like he just knew I wouldn't turn him down. And partly, because he was so damn fine. He stood about 6'1", milk chocolate skin, bald head. His lips were kind of thin but his smile could light Times Square. His eyes were brown but there was a light in them, like the damn twinkle of Santa Claus. I was hooked. Right there on the dance floor. We danced for a while and then I excused myself to the ladies room. I was on my way to the ladies room when he approached but I wasn't going to let a little something like relieving my bladder of all the alcohol stop me from dancing with him. When I returned from the ladies room, I tried to walk back over to my girls but just as I took a step in their direction he was right there.

"Where you think you going??"

"Okay, Ike. Calm down. My name ain't Anna Mae. "

He laughed. I laughed. God I wanna see that laugh over and over and over.

We continued to dance until my girls were ready to leave. It was late. I gave him my number. He promised he would call. My girls and I left. We talked about him the entire walk from the club to the train. The more we talked about how fine he was, the more I felt like I would never hear from him again. Don't get me wrong, I've dated some pretty handsome dudes but no one like him. There was just something about him that unnerved my confidence.

He called the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next. We were always together. Laughing, joking, hanging out. He would meet me after work and we would just walk the city streets. I met his brothers and his cousin. He met my mom. Now that I think about it, he scored big when he went grocery shopping for my mother. LOL He was perfect in my 25 year old naivete. But I kept thinking, why me?

Almost 2 months after we met, I was going on vacation to Jamaica with some of my girls. The trip had been planned since January. And I was superexcited to go. He offered to take me to the airport to see me off. I stayed with him the night before my trip. I wanted to wear a linen pantsuit on the plane but it had gotten crushed in my suitcase. I asked him to set up the iron for me so I could iron my pantsuit. He took my pantsuit and painstakingly, ironed it for me. He put the Chinese dry cleaner to shame. The next morning he got up extra early, made me breakfast, and drove me to the airport. Since this was pre-9/11, he walked me to the gate while I waited for my friends. He left when my friends arrived. But not before giving me a big old kiss in the airport. I had my foot raised and everything.

Before we even got on the plane, my friends were sick of me. I had that McDreamy far off look. Through boarding, the safety exit speech, takeoff, flight, and landing, he was alll I wanted to talk about. Not about the amazing trip we were going on. Not about all the things we were gonna do (and NOT gonna do) when we arrived in Jamaica. Just him.

By the end of the summer, we were done. I found out some things that made me question his sincerity. And I got off the rollercoaster ride before it got too nauseating. He'd even gotten a nickname out of it- Manwhore. But looking back it wasn't that deep. When it was over, I wasn't crushed or devastated. There were no Haagen Daaz runs. No comfort found in a Krispy Kreme. I didn't even hate him. I just shrugged it off and moved on with the next. (Actually, I wrote him a letter and THEN moved on...hahahahaha) Ahhh the resiliency of 25.

How appropriate that I ran into him at a club since that's where our history began. After I smacked him (on his arm) for plucking me, we fell into this easy conversation like old friends do. He asked about my family (he always asks about my mom and my grandmother). I asked about his.
Damn, he's still as fine as ever. Remember when he............. Why can't I give him my number again????

I could tell by the look on the chick's face that had been standing there that she too was caught up in the rapture of him. But before the deal could be clinched, he was caught up in catching up with me. And then I remembered why manwhore couldn't have my number. He was still running an amusement park and the rides no longer amuse me.

Mission One. I'ma put this on/ when he see me in my dress/I'ma get me some (hey)

"Uh oh. That's my song. I'ma go find my girls. Take care."

And with that, I shimmied my way back to VIP. I saw him throughout the night. But for the most part, I kept my distance. At the end of the evening, I walked past with my coat on. He grabbed my arm.

"You're not gonna say goodbye."

"Ummm you're dancing. I didn't want to disturb."

"I'ma call you later." {sidebar: I've had the same cell phone number for about 10 years. it's a curse and a blessing. If he really does still have my number, that is definitely a curse. LOL}

"Don't bother. It was good seeing you though. Take care. Good night."

Ahhh the wisdom of 32.

Pinky, where's your brain???

There's a man who visits my office frequently who I call (in my mind of course) "Pinky". The reason for this name is that this man insists on wearing pink. In October. Every time he comes to the office he has on something pink. And I'm not talking about a pink accented tie or thin pink pinstripes in a shirt. No I'm talking full on pink. Last Friday, for instance, he wore pink pants like this:

and a pink and green plaid shirt like this:

(yes, I realize that's NOT a shirt and is a sneaker but that's the closest I could find to the pattern of the shirt he was wearing. Use your imagination. LOL)

And unfortunately for him, he is not as fine or as svelte as the above pictured Bruce Willis (don't talk about my gets better with age crush on Bruce. LOL). As it appears in the picture, it appears to be a summer month or a warm climate when Bruce is wearing said pink pants. It was 60 degrees on Friday. Furthermore, Bruce manned up the pants with a black shirt. Pinky accented his pants with a freaking pink and green plaid shirt. And this is not Pinky's first frolic in the land of Pink. Today he has on a pink and beige blazer with a pink and navy checked shirt with charcoal grey slacks.

Initially I thought he may be a questionable sexual because of this overzealous love of pink. We were in a meeting one day and he crossed his leg to reveal pink and orange socks. I was mid sentence and lost my train of thought for a second at this bizarre sock revelation. Those shits were briiiiiiiiight.
The questionable sexual thoughts pranced right out the window with talks of his wife, kids, and the few times I've actually caught this old fool checking out my butt - like leaning back in the chair to get a full view of the bootay check. Perv.

I'm beyond baffled where this love of pink comes from in a middle aged white man who probably wipes his ass with $50 bills. I mean its not like he's representing Cameron and Dipset. However with this abundance of pink-tastic shenanigans going on, I wouldn't be surprised if Pinky owns a pink Escalade like these hood rich fools.

I have to know where does this love of pink come from. I gave in to my curiosity today by complementing him.
"Good Morning, (Pinky). Nice shirt." (Sidebar: it really is a nice shirt - if I had a man to shop for I might consider it; the pinktanginess of the blazer is what throws the whole outfit off)
"Oh thank you. My wife picked it out. She picks out all my clothes. I don't have time to shop"

What the hell????!!!! Why in the world would a woman send her man out into the streets looking like a cartoon character??? What could he have possibly done to deserve such fashion cruelty??? Granted, I think he's a grade A asshole but I didn't commit to love honor and blah blah blah for all the days of my life. I mean when you're a couple, don't you want your partner to look good because that is a reflection of you as well???

But at the end of the day, he's a grown ass man. Even if his wife buys all his clothes, can't he man up and say "Muffy, take all that pink shit back to the store before I cut your expense account!"? I'm pretty sure there have to be mirrors somewhere in that upper east side townhouse. Can't he see what he looks like??? Does the thought ever cross his mind, "Is this too ghey?" Or does she have complete control over his mind too??

I must admit. I have to admire her gangsta. For one, she knows no woman is coming within an inch of her man (and his money) because he looks like a ghey game show host walking down the street. Secondly, she must have some serious "lovin'" to play jedi mind tricks on the man convincing him that it is quite all right to wear this much damn pink. However, I'll continue to use my jedi mind tricks for good not evil. And this much pink on a man is the real axis of evil. LOL

today is a good day....

I mean it just has to be a good day. I'm probably jinxing myself with this proclamation so early in the day but oh well, that's how I feel. I woke up 5 minutes before my alarm clock rang. I knew EXACTLY what I was wearing today right down to the proper undergarments. Even better, everything I wanted to wear today was actually clean (I hate doing laundry. If I could find a man to not only love my dirty drawers but to wash them too, we are soooo jumping the broom. LOL). I didn't have to move my bed to find a missing sole-mate(I swear I think my shoes wander under there in the middle of the night. LOL). I ran into an old elementary school friend who was taking the same train as I, so I had someone I actually wanted to speak with on the train instead of some creepy slimy old dude making slick creepy slimy old dude comments. As we descended into the train station, I said "please Lord, let that be a ___ train" and voila! said train came roaring through the station. And I got a seat. Crowded, rush hour train on a Monday morning and I, me, the Resident Butterfly got a seat. And I didn't have to push anyone to get it either.

As Old School Chum and I happily discussed the topics du jour we were entertained by the musical shenanigans of a fellow passenger. There was a woman with her mega-headphones perched on top of her slightly askew wig who must have thought she was auditioning for the new reality show "So you think you can dance with the stars and be an idol for love or money while you sell your soul to Bob Johnson". This woman sat in the two-seater on the ___train and proceeded to dance in her seat and move her hands as if she were dj'ing. She continued her musical entertainment by singing out loud "EVERYDAY, I'M HUSTLIN'! EVERYDAY I'M HUSTLIN". And may I add, she even had the deep Rick Ross voice down as she sang the chorus. To add to the shits and giggles entertainment, she segued into 'THROW SOME DEES ON THAT BITCH", hand movements and all. You know the one where you raise your hand over your head and point your index finger down in time with the music. Yeah that one. At 8:40 in the morning. On the ___ train. School Chum and I couldn't stop laughing. At my station, I said my goodbyes and he chuckled as the Music Maestro began her rendition of 'I PUT ON FOR MY CITY/ON ON FOR MY CITY" for the duration of his trip.
The good times kept flowing as I stepped into Starbucks with my coupon for a free cup and was handed another one for a free cup (upon completion of a survey but hey my coffee will be free tomorrow too. Beat that, suckas!!! LOL)

Since I'm probably setting my self up for failure by declaring at 9:35 in the morning that today is a good day, I shant be surprised if this turns into one hell of a shitty day. But for right now, as I replay Ice Cube's "Today was a Good Day" in my mind, all is right in my world for now. Until someones fucks it up. Maybe I'll see music maestro on my way home on the ____ train. I'll probably need a good laugh by then.

In the meantime, this is the funniest.

ALL THE PLUMBERS IN THE HOUSE PULL YO PANTS UP! PULL YO PANTS UP! PULL YO PANTS UP!

The Power of the ___________

I just received an email from one of my fave stores, The Gap. I am admittedly a Gap ho but more on the explanation of my gap ho-ness at another time.

In the spirit of the spirited election season The Gap has launched a "What Will You Vote For?" campaign.

Show us what you're voting for
Gap is giving you the chance to stand up
for your beliefs. Get a customizable "Vote for ______" T-Shirt online
now and in stores on October 23 while supplies last. "

Here's the T-shirt:

(well that's the women's version; for men's click here.)

The tee is so simplistic but the ___________ is so powerful. I pondered what I would write in that space when I received my t-shirt (notice I said when, not if. I'm seerious about my gap ho-ness. hahahahahaha)

This was the heading for the email they sent. And for the most part, I couldn't agree more. Actually, I keep reading it over and over and thinking "damn, did I write this?!" But if I had to customize my own it would probably read something like this:

Vote for Truth. Conquering Your Fears Long Weekends Short Workweeks Creativity Growth Communication Wisdom Happy Hour (yeah I stole it...hahahahahaha) Shoes Stability Love Building Foundations Creating Opportunities Expanding Your Horizons Deep Laugh Lines Peace of Mind, Body & Soul Great Sex (yeah I said it...isn't that in the Constitution?? hahahaha) Stepping out of your Comfort Zone Finding Beauty in All Discovery Bliss Joy Your Future Ice Cream The Road Less Traveled Tolerance Beating the Odds

So what will you vote for????

SIDEBAR: I just remembered I have a shirt from the 2004 election from French Connection United Kingdom. It reads "F.C.UK. YOU, I'M VOTING" I fcuking love that t-shirt. hahahahahahhahaha

Quirks make the world go round (at least in my head)

On Friday, just as I hit "publish" on my work rant, my blogfriend/friend in my head, Chubbs, tagged me for this uh shall we say social revelation. How did she know I needed a break from the rants swirling around in my head? (I have no idea why I've been feeling edgy lately. Lemme go check the calendar. LOL) Thanks, Chubbs for the much needed distraction. :)

1. Link back to the person who tagged you


2. Mention the rules on your blog


3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours


4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them


5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers blogs letting them know they've been tagged


6. You can now display this charming dalek image i created when tagged!

Dang, this was hard. I reveal so much here, you would think all quirks would be exposed already. But alas, I came up with 6. Even though I'm not quite sure how 'unspectacular' they are. LOL

1. I must MUST sleep with at least my big toe if not my whole foot peeking out from under the covers. I need the ventilation to stave off feelings of claustrophobia in my sleep. Even though, I'm not claustrophobic. Oh and the covers can never be completely over my head either.

2. I'm deathly afraid of people on stilts. If they get too close, I wail and run like a terrified 3 year old. I was chased down 3rd avenue in high school by a man on stilts passing out fliers and I ain't been right since. Bastard.

3. I've never shaved my legs in my life. And for the record, I've never had to. Take a look at the picture above. Do you think I need to shave??? LOL

4. I dance around my living room as if I were on the set of a music video. I come up with the concept of the video in my head and then act it out. Only in my living room. The mirror is the camera.

5. I stack my groceries in a neat tight rectangular shape when I place them on the conveyor belt at the grocery store. It's like a puzzle game to see how all my food fits together.

6. I scrutinize people named Janelle. If I encounter anyone named Janelle I size them up to see if they are worthy to share my name. And they lose 2 points if they spell it wrong.

So there you have it, even more butterfly quirks. And now that I've been forced to think about it I can think of quite a few more but I'll spare you the more embarrassing ones and stick with six.

Mackdiva, Miss BB, Eve, Asha, Wendy, JazzBrew and The Black Larry David - TAG! You're it. (SIDEBAR: yes I can count but another one of my quirks is that I believe in the spirit of the law not the letter of the law. Sue me! hahahahahahaa)

oh and let me insert the image (see I do follow the rules...when I remember...hahahahaha)

That's some bullshit.......

One thing that bothers me to absolutely no end is people who wait to the last minute for shit. Now, the ironical (yes I know that ain't a word) part is that I am a procrastinator at heart and am damn near late for everything (except work when the trains don't fuck up and when I teach - gotta set an example for the youngins. ). So here I am at work today in a empty freaking office (yeah I forgot monday was holiday. ). I say to myself "Self, its a beautiful day. You've finished all your projects this week. As the youngins say, let's bounce!" No sooner do I have this self to self convo a colleague of mine who works out of town and knows that I'm flying solo today sends me a request. DAMNIT. Can we just take a moment to call him a hater??? Go 'head I'll wait. LOL

Now, here's where I fucked up. I have been resisting the Crackberry craze since I took on this position. I now realize that if I'd taken said berry of crack I could have managed the request mobilily (is that a word??). Instead I'm chained to my office watching the bright sunshine wave through my massive windows. Maybe I'll jump down the rabbit hole with the rest of you mofos and take the damn berry of crack.

As I type this rant I hear the words of Hustle screaming in my head "See that's what's wrong with you people. You complaining and you got a job! Mofos paying you and you wanna act all 'I can't believe he has the audacity to ask me to do some work' [said in his version of a bourgie accent]. Get the fuck outta here. Stop yer complainin and go do some damn work." Hustle, if you're reading this did I get it right???!! You know damn well you sound like somebody's pops sometimes. hahahahahahahaha

And while he may be right (don't tell him I said that), and I am thankful for a job in an industry that is actually growing during this economic uncertainty, can't a sistah just get a lil something off her chest and just be a lil indignant at the atrocity of me not being able to go to Banana Republic at 3 in the afternoon????

Simple Mathematics

plus

multiplied by

equals

Who knew math could be so simple??

[Source: trenchcoat, glasses, garments. Fireworks - like the old school record commercial said "No my brother, you gots to get your own." ]

Spectacles of Life

All my life, I've been insecure about my glasses. Growing up, that was the only thing I got teased about. Well that and that my mother was white (which isn't true....but that was the harshest insult when you grow up in the hood. but I digress. LOL) When I finally was grown enough in my mom's eyes (ahem 16), all I wanted were contact lenses. Since my 16th birthday brought the contact lens fairy, I haven't looked back with four eyes, only 2. The more I wore contacts and looked at the wack ass pictures of yesteryear, the more I was determined to portray this image of me without the spectacles. The few times I've worn glasses in public, I feel like a completely different person. More wall flower, less social butterfly. Dare I say shy even? It was like some old Clark Kent alter-ego thing going on. With contact lenses, I actually am the free spirit I think I am. But with glasses, I'm always thinking, always pensive, definitely insecure. I didn't like this person. So I vowed that life with contact lenses was the only way to live. Boyfriends would never see me in glasses. Naive me never trusted the notion that if he's with me, flaws and all, it shouldn't really matter. Four eyes or 2. Sure I was more likely to be called a bitch by my teasers and tormentors, but that's because the haters didn't have the glasses to diss me on. I removed their only weapon of mass destruction. I did what Bush couldn't do in the past 7 years. Identified the problem. Eradicated said problem. Problem solved? Nope. Damn.

"Fugly four eyes"

I went to the eye doctor about 2 weeks ago. My left eye was red. All day. I thought it was from the emotional outburst due to my mother's hospital stay but ummm wouldn't both eyes be red?? So off to Lenscrafters I went. The eye doctor (who reminds me of a cross between Mr. Rogers from Mr. Rogers neighborhood and Al Gore. go figure) informed me that I would have to lay off the contacts for a while. He wouldn't even write a prescription for a new set until I come back to see him in a few weeks. Without contact lenses (or glasses for that matter), I am blind. I've been wearing glasses since I was 7 freaking years old. So what's a girl to do???? Well, I went out into the Lenscrafter showroom and picked out a new pair of spectacles. Thankfully, the selections are waaaaay better than they were in oh lets say 1989 when I wore something that looked like this. I picked out a pair and waited the pre-requisite hour in Lenscrafters (really, where else was I going to go without glasses or contacts in midtown Manhattan on a sunny Saturday afternoon??LOL)

"Are those glasses or coke bottles?"

When I put the glasses on, everyone in Lenscrafters raved about how nice they looked. Of course, you'll say that. I just dropped a few hundred dollars up in here. I just paid you to say that. I looked in the mirror and all I saw looking back at me was "NERD" and I'm not talking about Pharell either. LOL I felt the insecurities creeping back into my psyche like an old blanket - a little scratchy but familiar. Oh man, what the hell am I gonna do?? Going blind is not an option and I was determined to follow Mr. RogersGore's orders to the letter. So I stepped out of Lenscrafters and into the hustle and bustle of the streets. I decided to walk to the hospital to visit my mother. For one, to get used to actually wearing glasses again and to give my eyes a moment to adjust. And secondly, I wasn't trying to fall into the train tracks while I adjusted to this new (again) way of seeing. The entire walk I looked down, as if that would somehow make and the specs invisible.

I arrived at the hospital and my mother grinned. With a "ohhhh look at my baby", she commented "how lovely" I looked. I told her she had to say that. She's my mother, after all. When's the last time you heard a mother say "Holy shit. My child, you are sooooo funny looking." She tried to reassure me they look nice. I wasn't quite convinced. I mean they're cool specs but on me??? I'm not so sure. At work on Monday, my boss told me my glasses look "smashing". But he's British. (Yeah that's the reason I gave myself - whatever that means. LOL). Even Rufus Leroy commented on them. He said I looked like a teacher he once had. Now considering Rufus probably went to school in nineteen sixty-something, that meant I looked like some old white lady. Thanks, Rufus. But beyond that, nothing. Men weren't checking me out. Or maybe my peripheral vision isn't has sharp and I miss the side glances. I was cloaked in my visual insecurities.

After a few days, I got used to them. Sure, I can't wear my celebritious Marc Jacobs sunglasses. And its still taking some getting used to not seeing the tv when I wake up in the morning. (yes, I slept in my contacts. primarily for that reason. I want to see from the very moment I wake up in the morning. I know. I got issues. LOL). The more I got used to them, the more confident I felt. Eventually, my head was back up, front and center for all to see. Dare I say I even strutted a little?? And wouldn't you know it, the men started paying attention. I realize how extremely vain and shallow this sounds. But this is me. I'll never be perfect. I can admit sometimes a man's raised eyebrow like "wow" makes my day. Is there anything wrong with that??? No for real, that's not a rhetorical question.

The true test? Hustle. He's been dying to see me in my glasses, ever since he found out I wore them. We dated for months before he even knew I had visual acuity issues. He would ask to see me in my glasses and I would look at him like he was nuts. Why would I want you to see the less than perfect version of me???? He would respond with some snarky comment about the way I look when I wake up, so what difference does it make. LOL So now its time to put the theory to the test. I assumed he would crack up laughing when he finally saw me and my specs, thus confirming my childhood fears.

"Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses."

As I got in the car, he glanced over. With a "ohhh shit", he grinned. "It's about time you wear your damn glasses. You look sophisticated. I like. Alot." Wait, did I just see a raised eyebrow??? Ohhhh shit is right, I thought as I buckled my seat belt.

I'm not saying I'm completely over the spectacle of my spectacles. But I'm learning to appreciate me, flaws and all. Whether its with four eyes or two or back to four again, I'm still me. After all these years, I can finally see that.

(Oh if anyone's interested, here are my new glasses.)