I went to the optometrist today, partly because my current pair of glasses is actually falling apart, and partly because this is my last chance to get new glasses without spending $300 of my own money. Yes, I am a heartless mercenary, stocking up on stuff before I move out (hopefully this summer).
The good news is that my prescription is the same as last time. Apparently, it's only changed 3% in the 5 years since I first started seeing this particular optometrist, which means that the Great Vision Shift of 2003 (I went from mildly farsighted to severely nearsighted between two eye appointments) was a fluke caused by growing 6 inches in a year and I should be able to wear the same glasses until I need bifocals.
There is no bad news, just a funny story.
I went to pick out new frames with the goal of finding ones as much like my old ones as possible. I found a slightly-more-money-than-my-mother-wanted-to-pay pair that I thought was very pretty, and a "That's much better" pair that I thought was moderately pretty. But then I tried them on my actual face and decided that I liked the shape of the second pair better. The only problem with that pair was that it was pink. Not fluorescently pink or anything, but pink nonetheless. Here's the thing: I don't like pink.
The person working there must get a commission for selling an in-stock pair or something, because he was really pushing the pink option rather than the brown option which he admitted existed and could be ordered. He went so far as to start calling them "rose" rather than pink, as if I dislike the word rather than the color itself. I held firm, and my lovely brown glasses will arrive in 7 to 10 days--just in time for me to go back to school in 13 days.
Going out to the car, I realized something and got a good laugh at the fact that the man at the optometrist's was trying to get me to look at the world through rose-colored glasses.