If I could change one thing about my physical self, it would be my eyes.
When I was seven years old, we were at this little city hall place in the middle of nowhere that had a vision checking machine (what is that thing called?), and my sisters and I started goofing around with it. As we prepared to leave, the lady at the desk called my parents aside to tell them that I was practically blind. Whoops.
I had some pretty rockin’ glasses (ha!) until I was about twelve and then I decided I was too cool to wear those glasses (you would have decided that too).Then I got contacts. And I’ve worn them pretty much every day since then, for around 15 hours a day. I would not recommend this. Ouch. I cannot function without my contacts. I have a hard time working out without them because I can’t drive to the gym and I can’t see the TV screens or clock. I can’t cook without them because I cannot read a recipe. It’s hard for me to wear my glasses here, too, because the humidity makes them fog up any time I step outside. Deeply inconvenient. Also, I’ve become a total baby about going outside without my sunglasses and it’s hard to wear both sunglasses and regular glasses.
Looking back, it was pretty inescapable; my dad and mom both wear glasses, as do all of my siblings, except my youngest brother who, we found out, had no peripheral vision on the left side. My other brother got glasses at two years old. My Grannie had glasses at four. Bad vision runs in my family. There is no escape.
Fortunately, I like the way my eyes look. I like being a brown-eyed blonde rather than a blue-eye one (helps to combat that dumb look I have going on). I like having the same eyes as my dad.
And, when Newsweek came today with a picture of a gorilla on it and Bart said he wanted one, I told him that, due to my superior. . .er, dominant, eye color, our kids could have those same gorilla eyes.