I got new glasses.

[fflo]

Two pair!  How 'bout that.  One is the frameless kind, which aren't so sturdy, and the other are tortoiseshelly.

I did the test reading with both + had them checked & fitted for how they sit on my head + picked out cases + sent the optician off with my credit card, and only then remembered to look in the handy desk mirror to see how I looked in them.  I seemed quite crisp, with a detail of skin I'm not accustomed to seeing (as, say, from a distance in the foggy bathroom mirror).  And guess what I discovered?  Here's what:  I now have a third whisker.

It's less than half an inch long at this point, but there it is.  And it's in moustache-whisker territory, vs. the one side-chin one and the other under-chin one.

I like my whiskers.

Perhaps I'll give them names, and they can be my friends, along with my animals.  I'll have Thanksgiving dinner with them.  I'll buy them phones (all on the one family plan!) and we'll exchange funny text messages and especially emotional emojis.  When things get bad, they'll convince me how alone in the world I'm not, on accounta there they are, with me.  For special occasions I'll get them dyed different colors, like to match the French flag on Bastille Day, when we'll sing the Marseillaise like we're trying to drown out some Nazis, which won't feel so far off as it used to woulda.  And then we shall all live happily ever after, until we don't.

Comments

[peteralway.livejournal.com]

You amuse me.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

If you were to name all your whiskers and have distinct relationships with them each, that'd get complicated quick.

[peteralway.livejournal.com]

Yeah. Truth is that it's a bigger pain to get rid of them than it is to leave them alone.

Reminds me of the time when I was probably in high school, and I was visiting my least favorite and most Christian uncle. My youngest older brother, college age, had a beard, and my uncle was making fun of him for it--"What do you have a beard for? I knew a guy who had no chin so he grew a beard...." Of course watching him rag on my brother about having a beard was especially amusing, because righ behind my uncle's head was a standard painting of Jesus in a full beard.

"Jesus loves his little whiskers, all the little whiskers in his beard..."

[fflo.livejournal.com]

:) and, continuing the way (I'm a little sheepish to admit) (but apparently not TOO sheepish to admit) we used to sing it:

"Jesus love the little boys, BUT
he especially loves the little girls
Oh yeah
he especially loves the little girls
That's right
he especially loves (ba-boom)
he real-ly loves (ba-boom)
he really really loves the little girls"

[peteralway.livejournal.com]

I never was compelled to attend a religious institution, so I don't know how the song goes past the children's choir excerpt in "Everything is beautiful, in its own way," by whoever sang that song in the late 60's or early 70's.

SO I'd never heard that version, but I guess the truth will be coming out in the post-Harvey Weinstein era.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

hee. :) p-HW! A "B.C."-style name for the new era.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

pronounced "phew!", cuz it's a relief?