I had a cut on my eyeball once.
Because of this, I could not wear my contacts. I had to find a Lenscrafters that took my insurance so I could get an emergency pair of glasses, as my previous emergency-glasses had disappeared, and were, therefore, no good in my emergency.
The eye doc (ophthalmologist? optometrist? I never really know the difference) told me that my prescription had gotten so much worse since my last exam that I should not wear my old contacts again, even after my eye healed. As a result, I have been a glasses-wearer since June. They are, in my opinion, fairly stylin' glasses.
This past weekend, when I went home, my mom saw my glasses for the first time. At first she was convinced they were the wrong size, which they are not, and then she started this incredibly annoying habit of reaching over and pushing my glasses up to the very very top of my nose, where they do not belong. At any time, I could suddenly be accosted by my mother's probing finger jabbing at my face. It was not a situation of which I was overly fond, as I am sure you can imagine.
So, when she offered to buy me some new contacts, I jumped at the chance. I went to my childhood ophthal/optom/eyeguy/whatever, and he set me up with a new pair. I come home from the appointment, and my mom starts gushing about how pretty my eyes are and how glad she is that I am not wearing "those glasses" any more. Now, I appreciate the compliment -- but when she starts talking about how bad my glasses were, well -- it translates in my head as "You look nice now, but the past 4 months? UG-freakin-LY." Ow. Just because it is the way my stubbornness operates, I immediately wanted to put my glasses back on, but to preserve family peace, I refrained.
I just went to Starbucks. (This is related, trust me.) I order my quad-venti-mocha, and a barista wandering by looks over and not only says, "You have really pretty eyes!" she actually calls over two MORE baristas to look at my eyes and comment on how pretty they are. I imperceptably opened my eyes a little bit wider (for easier viewing access and because I am a narcissistic bastard), tried to blush becomingly, grabbed my coffee, and got back to work.
I am, of course, feeling all happy about the unsolicited compliment, which has done much to perk up an otherwise ho-hum day. But the phrase that keeps running through my head is, "Damn it all. Mom was right."