I Spy Cat's Eye

Some people dread the dentist.  But my nemesis is the eye doctor.  And I use the term doctor loosely.  Because optometrists and ophthalmologists have about as much in common as Milli Vanilli and Adele.  You'd think that knowing this would calm me down to near cockiness.  But last Sunday, when it was time for my yearly eye exam at a Visionworks shoehorned between Moe's and David's Bridal, I still felt pressure to pass all those tests.  Not as much as I used to, mind you.  But I hadn't achieved that coveted cool as a cucumber status.  Or maybe I should say cool as a carrot status because carrots are supposed to be good for your eyes.  

Anyway, you know the kinds of tests I mean. What's the smallest line you can read?  Which line is clearer, one or two?  Two or three?  How many aliens are in front of the farmhouse?  (I made that last one up.  But I think that the tests should be more entertaining, especially the air puff one for glaucoma.  Hearing a Mario Brothers storming the castle sound effect when you get punched would make it less scary.)  I was even more on edge because my nearsighted self wears glasses only to drive, a behavior that compromises my ocular integrity, making the kindly optometrist (for he is kindly, despite his choice in profession) suspicious.  This, I realize, makes me, not him, the Milli Vanilli.  His questions went something like this: So, you don't wear your glasses when you go to the movies?  Or when you watch TV?  Or use the computer?  No, no, and no.  But wouldn't things be clearer if you did?  Well, sure.  But I'm not blind (despite what that guy at the DMV once said).  And seeing every wrinkle on Brian Austin Green's face while I watch "BH 90210" isn't something I want in my life.  

Nor is being known as someone who wears glasses.  Not that there's anything wrong with glasses.  Daria rocked them like the badass she was, and "The Big Bang Theory's" Bernadette wouldn't be Bernadette without them.  It's just that they're not me.  

  

That said, fun and funky sunglasses like these are the only lenses I want on my face.  And yes, these pics do get slightly smaller as you make your way down.  Which Tote Trove lady is clearer, daisy cat's eye or red hearts?  Red hearts or purple hearts?  Purple hearts or invisible alien?  

Guess what?  After all that angst, it turns out I didn't even need new glasses.  

Which was just as well because everyone knows that Mr. Green doesn't have wrinkles.

Send in the Gowns: Three Ring Sumo Circus

Fabulous Felt Clown Barrettes

Dress: David's Bridal
Shoes: Guess, DSW
Bag: Xhilaration, Target
Sunglasses: Michaels

There are few things as paradoxically creepy-cute as clowns.  So, I thought it'd be fun to make some in barrette form this week -- and even more fun to clip their colorful, madcap mugs (which, according to the husband, bare a striking resemblance to Mr. Bill) to the uber sleek and formal bridesmaid dress I wore in my sister's wedding.  The result is a look that would make anyone the belle of the Barnum and Bailey ball, right down to the mismatched shoes a la Helena Bonham Carter, who, come to think of it, looks more than a little clownish in those Alice in Wonderland movies.  These triple clowns are large and in charge and come in a rainbow of seasonal colors, spanning the palettes of fall, spring, and summer.  But not winter, because winter's the worst (and also because no one wants to see Bozo go down in a toboggan).

Clowns aren't the only characters cartwheeling through my personal circus.  I'm also sweet on sumo wrestlers.  Or whatever it is that's circumnavigating this satin box kumbaya-style.  Maybe they're acrobats, strange and smiley in their bright leotards.

I got this box on a sixth grade class trip to some now-forgotten Egyptian museum.  It stood out among the stickers and tee shirts, beckoning me with its exotic glamour.  I've always loved unusual trinket boxes.  They're weird and they store stuff; what more could a kooky collector want?  Knowing this, my mother recently rescued this one from the attic.  I was thrilled.  Even if it smelled funny and had become a coffin for crunchy critters.  Also, the "wrestlers' " leotards had partially disintegrated, shamelessly exposing the crude gray stuffing of their shoulders and rumps.  But to me they still seemed magical, a band of homegrown superheroes (sorry, Sailor Moon ad Pokemon) that had battled the attic's wilderness to emerge (mostly) intact decades later.  Bravery like that deserves to be rewarded, which is why I embellished their poor exposed innards with rhinestones.  I think the winking gold and purple add an exciting new dimension to this already kitsch-tastic keepsake, and I look forward to enjoying it for years to come.

On that note, I can just see some snooty-accented "Antiques Roadshow" appraiser a hundred years from now, turning it around in his hands and murmuring, "Ah yes, a novelty piece most likely sold at a museum gift shop in the Northeast in the early to mid-1990s.  It's a pity it's been altered.  Although the rhinestones add a sense of whimsy, they'll significantly lower the value at auction."  This is the part where the caftannned Midwesterner who brought it in snatches it away in a tizzy, huffing, "It looks better next to my velvet Elvis!" before flouncing off to have another expert examine her set of Ronald McDonald drinking glasses.

From one clown to another, this ring's come full circle.