Queen of Dorkdom – The Sequel

After the pesky eye infection never cleared up last week and my eye doctor told me I’d have to wear my glasses for another seven days, I decided it was time. Time to buy a new pair of frames and update my look. I visited an eyeglass store in the mall and told the lab technician, "My children refuse to acknowledge that I am their mother when I put these on," as I slipped on my white, huge frames from 1981.

The technician snorted, "I can see why!" as he quickly led me over to the display on the wall.

I tried on several pairs until he and I both narrowed it down to two frames. "Number one?" I said as I slipped on the first pair, "Or number two?" I felt like an ophthalmologist as I surveyed every employee and customer in the store, "Number one or number two?" It was unanimous. All parties, including independents, voted for the cat glasses that scarily resembled my pair from second grade. "I cannot believe I am resorting to the look that once caused me misery, teasing, and any sort of dating with the opposite sex for my entire childhood," I lamented to the lab technician who was just secretly glad I had removed my frames from 1981.

Modern technology has taken away the excruciating long wait for new glasses and I returned to the store in an hour to pick up my new frames. I tried them on in front of a magnified mirror. The lab technician said, "Ooooh, those look really cute!" while I privately wondered what kind of male nerdy lab technician says "really cute?" I mean … really! Suddenly, there was a long pause and then the technician said with an alarming tone, "Oh boy. Look at that spot under your nose in the mirror."

I stared at my face in the mirror. And there it was. One of those pimples that looks like a volcano ready to erupt, except it would take three to six months for it really to burst, and by then, the pain would be horrifying, the redness would be obvious to everyone within 25 feet of me, and no one would want to be seen with me.

I continued to stare at myself as one lonely tear trickled down my cheek. "But the glasses are really cute!" he said again with more enthusiasm.

I paid the technician and quickly ran to the makeup counter at the nearest department store. I bought an erase stick that boasted it would make everything disappear including your nagging mother-in-law if need be and headed home while applying the makeup in the car.

I pulled up in the driveway and my kids said, "Hey, cool new glasses Mom!" as I drove the car into the garage.

"Thanks," I yelled as I quickly exited the car and ran inside.

Much to my dismay, the children followed me and as I turned around, they gasped in horror. My son said, "MOM! WHAT IS ON YOUR FACE?"

I put my hand under my nose to cover it up. "Oh, just a little pimple," I replied.

My son reached over and moved my hand. "MOM!" he exclaimed, "It’s a HUGE undergrounder!"

He walked away, shaking his head. He turned around and said one last thing before he left the room, "Uh Mom?"

"Yes?" I said.

"Don’t come outside until that pimple is gone."

Sometimes you just know that in the eyes of your children, you’ll never be cool again.



About Vicky DeCoster

Award-winning humor writer Vicky DeCoster is the author of "From Diapers to Dorkville," "Husbands, Hot Flashes, and All That Hullabaloo!" and "The Wacky World of Womanhood." She has been published in over 60 magazines, books, and on several web sites. Vicky lives in Nebraska with her husband and two children where she loves to laugh every day. Visit her at www.wackywomanhood.com.
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