So imagine my chagrin when I stood before the mirror in my bathroom on Saturday morning and saw a cluster of red in the corner of my eye. Naturally, I felt compelled to examine this situation more closely; I peeled back my eye lids, cocked my head to the side and lo and behold, there it was in all its glory--a bursted blood vessel. Doing its absolute best to resemble a fertilized chicken egg.
For those of you not raised on farms, here is what a fertilized egg looks like:
Magnificent, isn't it?
I quickly called Moses in for a second opinion (although he would wish me to remind you that he is not nor will he ever be that kind of doctor.) He seemed somewhat distressed by the whole thing; partially because it looked somewhat alarming (see fertilized chicken egg), partially because I was (slightly) in pain, and partially because just nights before he had unconsciously elbowed me in the eye (although, I was so drowsy I couldn't tell you which) and he knows that he is just one anonymous phone call away from being reported to the big bad rotten boyfriend hotline (only kidding, lambykins.)
Moses, in his infinite wisdom, suggested I wear my glasses until my eye gets better. I, in my infinite narcissism, attempted to explain to him that my glasses are only to be worn in the following circumstances:
A. While sitting on the couch at home in my sweatpants, watching abc family programming
B. When I have pulled an all-nighter and I am physically too tired to put my contacts in. Note: this second circumstance only occurs during graduate school and often coincides with being too fatigued to care about my appearance. It is also often accompanied by coffee stained clothing (since I've already put the shirt on and everything...)
So I huffed and puffed and swore I would still wear my contacts despite (in spite of?) my unsightly ocular blemish. Alas, my eye stung just enough with my contact in it that I relented and have been following Moses sagacious advice. But wearing glasses makes Wendy think that she looks like this:
Yes. Mustache and all. Although, Moses insists that I look adorable.
Here, judge for yourself in this rare pictorial of me wearing my glasses:
But this is really all in good jest and infused with a healthy dose of hyperbole (as if there is any other kind.) Living in Los Angeles has actually had the opposite effect on me that it has on most people. The more I live here, the less I care about my appearance. The less I fuss over my averageness. The less I fret over the fact that my nose and my teeth need fixing or that my hair looks weird or that my glasses are thick or that my clothing is stained. It's just, well, much of the Southern California populace are SO obsessed with their exteriors that it makes the whole thing seem rather comical and pathetic.
So here, for your viewing pleasure (or idle curiosity) is my bursted blood vessel that I hardly even feel self-conscious about:
And just look at how nicely my nose appears from that angle. Normally, I look like this: