By MARY WARD
I wear glasses.
No. I don’t just wear glasses. I live glasses.
Since my whole Year One class were taken into the hall to read off a poster with a few letters on it, and I was one of the lucky kids given an envelope to take home to mum, I have had a pair of spectacles on the end of my nose.
I am decked out in the most comprehensive of prescriptions. Long sighted, short sighted AND astigmatic. Holla!
Throw in some inoperable cataracts and it’s no wonder the kids on the street call me the Unseein’ Queen.*
We glasses-wearers are a special breed. With our own shared experience. Because, while life behind the frames might seem quite fun, we are united by our struggles.
You know you’re one of the brethren when:
1. Rain = death.
Every bespectacled person knows that rain is enemy number one. If it gets on your glasses and you don’t have your optometrist-sanctioned microfibre cloth handy, you’re faced with the lose-lose situation of wiping it off with some inferior material, and looking through streaky glasses for the rest of the day, or not doing anything resulting in a your vision becoming speckled in an equally annoying fashion.
And yet glasses with windscreen wipers are still seen as a humorous joke and not a solution to a legitimate and debilitating problem:
2. Stark changes in temperature also = death: