Dang it! I already went through this routine in July [clicky]. I thought I was being so suave and economical and such. I got new lenses for my dear favorite frames. I love those frames. They are perfect. Loved. Were. I guess I can still present-tense "love."I tempted that haggy old four-eyes vice president of Emerikah Sarah Palin and Jesus broke my glasses. I'm sure of it; so much for not believing in "higher beings." Dammit. I'm kind of pissed too. It's not like I didn't just drop like three bones for lenses on July 7th. Two months? Fuck!
Now I have to pick up new glasses in an hour and a half. Strangers on my face. I don't know these frames. I've had frames that were just wrong. Some have been great but tainted. Others have just been there, bored.
And I always feel way to retarded picking frames. I'm like asking the mopes who work there what they think because I think they all suck. I'm trusting the people. These frames that just broke? Fuckin' love 'em. I don't know if they look(ed) good or bad or right or wrong for my face. I love 'em. I missed them as soon as they broke. And I knew too. I might not have cried, but my eyes welled. And I pouted.
I wore these when B was born among other milestones. These have been my longest lasting frames. Ever. And they broke. I broke them. The new lenses probably stressed 'em out (physically) to fatigue. It was a matter of time nonetheless. Seven year run? Whatevs. I'll survive with my new wrong, girly, too dark/too light, wrong shape, overly bold frames that were selected by a lab tech named Tim.
Oh, and my sunglasses are just about to break too. Dammit! I just got those in April.
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