Oh, and for those of you who happen to live nowhere near me and are not blessed with the opportunity to stare at my face daily (Hello, family...and most of you), these are my new glasses. The glare makes it look like there's a white stripe. There is not. They're amber and black and acetate and handmade and expensive. I should have bought them with euros. Because they're French. I know this because they taunt me late at night in their native tongue. "Pauvre fille. Vous avez des factures à payer."
I hate money.
But I like my sight. Vision wins. Again.
And I would revert to the good ol' days' chicken-for-firewood trading, but I have no chickens. Or firewood. So my situation would, in fact, be far worse.
P.S. The lighting in my apartment is not conducive to amazing PhotoBooth photography. My skin isn't actually green. Or pink. I don't think.