Confession: I am a hypocrite.

When I was in the second grade, I didn't just want glasses.  I yearned for them.  You see, I had an American Girl doll.  Ladies, you know what I'm talking about.  I had Molly... kind of.  You see, I actually had Samantha, because my sister's name was Samantha.  But I really wanted Molly.  The glasses-ed, plaid-wearing, nerdy American Girl doll.  And, since the only difference* between Samantha and Molly were glasses and a fifty-eight dollar outfit, I got Samantha, but kind of also Molly.  Thus began my love affair with glasses.

Starting the day I received my Samantha doll (and Molly outfit), I begged my mom for glasses.  Even though I didn't need them.  At all.  I even asked Santa for a pair of glasses.  And, Lo! and Behold!  Santa came through for me.  For the Christmas of my eighth year, I received a $5.99 pair of those reading glasses from the drug store.  Gold rimmed and +0.25 lens strength, I was a stylin' second grader.

(I know what you're thinking and, indeed, I have been a dork from the womb.)

And then the day came when my mom realized that I need glasses for real.  Mwahahaha my evil plan had worked.

Since then, I have been glasses'd.

And then there's my family.  We are - how you say? - optically challenged.  There's my uncle Phil:

And Uncle Charles:

And then there's my Aunt Kay, after whom I am named:

And, of course, my own mother...

My entire glasses-wearing life, I have been poking fun at them and their poor choices in face-covering, thick-rimmed frames.

Well, I have a confession:  I have joined their ranks.

Oops.

P.S.  Just to further my hypocrite-ism, can I just say how rad I think all of my family's glasses are?  Except maybe my mom's Elton John glasses...