The pressure was on after announcing I didn’t like my new glasses. I tried collecting
opinions to see if I was overly sensitive. Most folks, though, are polite. Really. But I sensed enough negativity to confirm my opinion.
Kate wins the honesty prize: “Those frames do not flatter you.”
But what next?
Wendy generously offered to let me swap out the frames. But I can’t make two mistakes in a row. She said if I find a frame they don’t stock, she can order them up for me. Went to another store and found some nice Chloe frames, and nice Yurman frames. Can she get those for me?
She keeps expecting a new shipment of frames. Fendi. Pro Design from Denmark, which I had once before. Every couple days I call. “They’ll be here next week,” says Wendy. For a few weeks in a row.
Meantime a couple friends recommend I go check out a couple stores in Venice. The shops are nice, but they have the same stock, the same man-ish big frames. And I do still want bigger frames because of the bigger reading area. But feminine. Suitable for my small-ish face. I want the guns and the butter. To eat the cake and have it to.
“Did you decide to keep the glasses?” people are starting to say.
That’s the thing when you announce you are going to do something.
People expect you to do it.
I expect to also.
Finally I’m back at Wendy’s, trying on everything in sight. I come upon a pair of Prada frames I haven’t noticed before. They are big-ish. But a nice shape, with a small gold accent at the temple, and a great color, a deep wine that mixes with my clothes.
“I like these,” I tell Wendy.
“They’re still big you know, you may have the same problem.” She doesn’t say it, but thinks I’m being overly sensitive about the glasses magnifying the bags under my eyes.
“No, I like them,” I say.
And I do.