Glancing towards the noise of the door closing, I saw him again. There was something about the way that he shuffled his feet, how he made sure not to stare, and how he smiled confidently as he walked past me.
I hadn’t even considered what I would say if he spoke to me.
It happened all at once.
And I was a complete simpleton.
“You’re wearing glasses,” he said.
“You weren’t wearing them yesterday.” His face was inches from mine. Realizing that he had noticed me yesterday, I continued to respond with one word answers.
“Are they real?”
Whatever happened next was a blur. In answering yes about the glasses being real, I realized I had lied. Well, I had and I hadn’t lied.
The glasses were real frames from the 1960’s, and after purchasing them at a vintage store, I had clear glass put in them at an optical shop. So the glasses themselves were real, but that wasn’t what he meant. He had been asking if the glasses were real, as in, did they help me see.
I went to my parents house for dinner later that night and proceeded to re-tell the ridiculousness that had been my interaction with the “dreamy guy at work.” My family laughed at the mess I had made, throwing out suggestions about how I should pretend to fumble on the floor for a lost contact lens. Or start to continuously rub my eyes, complaining about the air conditioning making my contacts dry.
As amusing as their feedback was, I had essentially given up any hope that Mr. Dreamy Work Guy would still find me interesting.
Turns out, he did like me.
And now, two years later, we get to laugh together about my “real” glasses.