The down side to being practical

Today I spent way more time than I meant to trying on new glasses. I love wearing glasses. I was so happy when I found out, aged 10, that I needed them, partly because it meant I could see and partly because it was like I was fulfilling my destiny as my school's Bookish Nerd archetype. During my brief and horrible Contact Lens Experiment in Year 12, my face felt naked and exposed and I kept poking myself on the bridge of my nose (it seems I push my glasses up far more often than I realise).

Anyway, I settled on two new pairs today: some thick black frames to be my Serious Glasses and some bronze wire frames with filigree legs to be my Slightly More Frivolous Glasses. They'll be ready next week. I'm quite excited (though not Big Kev excited).

Walking away from the optometrist's, I was stopped in my tracks by something I saw in a shop window: an apple green shirt. A few years ago, my desire to own an apple green shirt was briefly met then cruelly thwarted when the apple green v-neck t-shirt I bought lost its shape and became an apple green sack the first time I washed it. My new one (yes, I bought the one I saw today) is a light cotton button-through number with tiny white leaves on it, and I'm pretty sure it won't lose its shape. And it's one of those that have to be dried while rolled up to keep the crinkles in, so there'll be no ironing: bonus.

And now I have to find something to throw out, because of my one in/one out system for new clothes. Curses to being practical.