My Number One Son has never complained about his eyesight, yet it seems that on his most recent screening at school they caught something . . . and so he visited the optometrist yesterday and lo and behold, he needs glasses. No suprise there, really. We expected it before now.
It happens that he is ever more tweeny, so the prospect of wearing glasses makes him a bit nervous: “I’m worried that I’ll look funny.” In my attempt to assure him that he won’t look funny at all, I took off MY glasses to show him that we look more or less the same either way. Well, he didn’t buy it: “naw, Dad, you look funny . . . you’ve got these bag thingies under your eyes. It makes you look OLD.”
Touche, son.
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