Man, if you think I'm nasty now you should have seen me in my pre contact-lenses days. I was in grade five when I went to that fateful optometrist appointment that would change my life for the worse. I know most people think, "Glasses?! Bah, it's no big deal." But most people didn't have my father for a dad. Your dad wouldn't ensure that his daughter's first pair of glasses were identical miniatures of the horrific pair perched on his nose. Ugly photosensitive (ie when it gets sunny out, tada! your lenses magically turn black) metallic David Koresh glasses. Yes, those ugly T2 cop type old man monstrosities. The bain of my fifth grade existence, those glasses were. Until grade 6...when I was outfitted with powder blue plastic frames. Then came grade 7. I moved on up to gold frames that covered half my face. Plus by then, the lenses were getting so goddamned thick no thanks to the exorbitant price of high index lenses, which we refused to shell out the bucks for. So imagine me...12 years old, neon green/pink windbreaker thrown over my private school tunic, navy blue socks rolled like donuts down to my ankles, white cloth headband placed carefully on my head to avoid mussing my perfectly coiffed teased 5 metres high bangs. Now picture me smiling, ready to frolic outside during my recess break. I step outside...and instantly recoil because the intense magnification of the sun through my 2" thick glasses has burned my retinas. "Mine eyes! Mine eyes! I can't see!" Come grade 8, I triumphantly donned my first pair of contacts. I haven't bought a set of glasses since. Unfortunately, that means my most recent prescriptive frames are from 8 years ago. So whenever I stay over at a friend's house, when I remove my contacts and put on the sexy old gold frames, I am instantly greeted with mocking laughter from those who apparently are supposed to be my "friends". Friends my ass.