"Ross," I said at Church last Sunday, "Open your hymnbook and stop messing around."
"Okay," he replied. "What page?"
I pointed to the front of the chapel, where the hymn numbers were posted.
"Yeah, I can't see those numbers," Ross informed me.
I looked at Jake. Jake looked at me.
"Just what he needs" Jake mutters under his breath.
So Ross will be getting some spectacles! The recessive gene strikes again. It looks like he got my version of the gene, because I got my first glasses in the middle of third grade, too! (Jake can't remember. He doesn't remember much. I'll bet he doesn't remember his first kiss. I should ask him.)
I'm sure Ross will look handsome and distinguished in his glasses, but it is likely going to be expensive. I'll bet he loses them, sits on them, breaks off arms, pops out lenses, then loses them again. He probably won't try to belt sand them like I did in plastics class in 7th grade. I had some hate issues with my glasses. I really wanted contacts. Or maybe I had contacts, but wanted new glasses. (Maybe I don't remember much either. That's okay. I'm sure I didn't kiss anybody worth remembering before Jake, anyway.)