My Secret Identity

I felt like Clark Kent today.

I couldn’t find my glasses yesterday, right? Was already feeling ill, then I couldn’t find my spectacles, so I called in sick (my eyesight is bad enough it’s literally illegal for me to drive without my glasses). After about 4 hours, I dug out some very expired contacts, called up Taylor for a ride to the pharmacy, and got cleaning solution to sanitize the hell out of them.

Enter today: due to yesterday’s shenanigans, even though I found my glasses (have I ever told you that in spite of my bed being a twin, there’s approximately 8 million items on it?), I decided to wear my contacts.

Now, I’m not the type to wear make-up or have my hair down (generally because I wash it with strictly water most days, and people find that look unpleasant even though my hair has been wayyy healthier). However, I did the shampoo thing for the last two weeks (ugh, and my ends are already drying out), wore my hair down, and I wore make-up. Today I added the not-wearing-glasses thing.

Literally everyone I talked to made some sort of comment. One agent across the room said, “Holy cow, is that KaLeena?” That was about the standard response. Apparently glasses really can hide an identity, with the added bonus of the whole nerdy-girl-to-heartbreaker thing they do in the movies (you know, the one where shy and homely Cinderella takes off her glasses and is suddenly the belle of the ball). According to one coworker, that’s exactly what happened. ‘Twas a bit of a perspective change, I’ll tell you that.

For someone who generally feels chronically unattractive, unappealing, un-whatever (the lack of dating, while good for me, is also a bit saddening when I remember I haven’t been asked out since age 16; I’m 24), this was an unexpected morale boost. It was nice, but that doesn’t mean I’m ditching the glasses or taking the time to put on make-up every day or killing my hair with shampoo.

Nope. Still going to be the girl in the corner of the coffee shop wearing tortoise-shell glasses, hair in a ponytail, a black hoodie zipped halfway up, reading Dune and scribbling down the random ideas that come to mind for writing my own novels.

In truth, it’s kind of nice to have a secret identity.


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