Eleven Minutes

I'm in trouble.

I started wearing my glasses.

Then, after a few days, I realized that :ahem: I could actually see. A lot better.

So I kept on wearing them. And now I'm tired of it. What am I going to do? I don't care about how it looks. I've long given up on outward appearance. Although, not altogether. Yet. 
But they are annoying. I have to keep cleaning them. The kids grab them off. I have to push them up like a little twerp. I can't bend over without them sliding down. I have to take them off when I want to lay down and rest. I haven't ordered prescription sunglasses yet, so I can't wear shades. The list goes on. Are you with me? They are a pain. 

Today I am ripping the band-aid. I'm not wearing them. 
My eyes already hurt. It's been eleven minutes. 

I will probably end the day with a migraine, wearing my glasses laying in bed. Weeping.
I thought about contacts, but that seems like so much work, too. The taking in and the taking out and the solution and what if one pops out? I already know I'm the girl crawling around the aisle at Publix looking for my contact while my kids open the vanilla wafer box in the buggy and help themselves. A freak show. And did you read the article about the woman leaving her contacts in forever and some kind of bug taking up residence in there? Yes. The bug ate her eyeballs, y'all. (Read about it HERE) Also, I can barely put on mascara. I doubt I can put a lens right there on my eye bulb.

Do you see what just happened. I said eye bulb. What's worse is I said it out loud twice and still decided that it was the right word. No, Natalie. It's eyeball. 
I'm almost thirty. For the love of vocabulary. 

Until Next Time,
The Guff