Glasses Half Full
May. 15th, 2006 10:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rhythmaningA few weeks back, whilst we were all out getting drunk, a colleague held forth on how I should be an academic. This was based on the fact that she thought I looked like an academic. (I don’t know how many academics she knows; I know a few, and they don’t look much like me.)
Then a few days later, whilst we were all out getting drunk,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
frankie_ecap decided I didn’t look dynamic enough – “too academic”, she said. This was compounded by her grabbing my nice new glasses, and swapping them for K’s trendy, rimless glasses. She held a quick poll of the assembled cast, taking their attention away from their own glasses for a few seconds, and the view was that I looked better in K’s glasses than in my own. Indeed there wasn’t a dissenting voice, other than mine screaming to be given my glasses back. (I am bereft without my glasses – blind; I hate having them taken off me.)
And at lunch last week, another colleague said that she could see me as a mad professor.
I am changing jobs – careers, even – and mad professor wasn’t on my list of possible job-moves.
So on Saturday, I was charged into action and lead my wife to an opticians to help me get some less academic glasses. I took my wife with me because, without my glasses on, I can’t see what any alternatives look like; and she had to stop me just getting the same kind of thing that I have been getting for the past twenty years. (Since I was an academic…) And, of course, she loves shopping, so she was really up for this.
We tried many different pairs; her view was paramount – indeed, it was her selection – her approval – that counted. Sure, she loves me for who I really am, and looks aren’t important, but…
“No, not those… they make you look like a serial killer.” I have no idea what kind of glasses serial killers wear, but my wife could see it very clearly.
“No, not those… far too Germanic.” And not in a good way.
I couldn’t work out what was Germanic or murderous about any of the many, many pairs I tried on.
But finally she settled on a pair. The most expensive frames in the place. So expensive, they decided to throw in an extra pair of glasses gratis. (I’d rather have had £100 off the bill, but that didn’t seem to be on offer.)
After I had paid, my wife told me what fun she had had spending my money, and that we really must do that again, soon.
I think I’d better cut up my credit card…
Then a few days later, whilst we were all out getting drunk,
frankie_ecap decided I didn’t look dynamic enough – “too academic”, she said. This was compounded by her grabbing my nice new glasses, and swapping them for K’s trendy, rimless glasses. She held a quick poll of the assembled cast, taking their attention away from their own glasses for a few seconds, and the view was that I looked better in K’s glasses than in my own. Indeed there wasn’t a dissenting voice, other than mine screaming to be given my glasses back. (I am bereft without my glasses – blind; I hate having them taken off me.)And at lunch last week, another colleague said that she could see me as a mad professor.
I am changing jobs – careers, even – and mad professor wasn’t on my list of possible job-moves.
So on Saturday, I was charged into action and lead my wife to an opticians to help me get some less academic glasses. I took my wife with me because, without my glasses on, I can’t see what any alternatives look like; and she had to stop me just getting the same kind of thing that I have been getting for the past twenty years. (Since I was an academic…) And, of course, she loves shopping, so she was really up for this.
We tried many different pairs; her view was paramount – indeed, it was her selection – her approval – that counted. Sure, she loves me for who I really am, and looks aren’t important, but…
“No, not those… they make you look like a serial killer.” I have no idea what kind of glasses serial killers wear, but my wife could see it very clearly.
“No, not those… far too Germanic.” And not in a good way.
I couldn’t work out what was Germanic or murderous about any of the many, many pairs I tried on.
But finally she settled on a pair. The most expensive frames in the place. So expensive, they decided to throw in an extra pair of glasses gratis. (I’d rather have had £100 off the bill, but that didn’t seem to be on offer.)
After I had paid, my wife told me what fun she had had spending my money, and that we really must do that again, soon.
I think I’d better cut up my credit card…