Ah, ghod bless Oliver Willis for pointing out an article at Salon extolling the virtues of women who wear glasses. Damn right they are sexy. Remember Barbara Bel Geddes in “Vertigo”? What was Jimmy Stewart thinking? Ignoring a sexy/smart designer, for a doomed millionare’s concubine? I was always a little disapointed when the last woman I dated put in her contacts.
My friend Freddie has killer glasses: antique frames, made in Italy, cats-eye, silver inlay and filigree at the temples. She finds the frames on eBay, and has her optician custom cut and grind the lenses for them.
Anecdote: Last week I was out of Peet’s at home, so I stopped at the local Starbucks on the way to work. I had bought a Mercury News from the box outside, and was unfurling it to read in the line. As I came to a halt, the front section of the paper plowed into the person ahead of me. She turned, and I croaked out a “pardon me”.
That’s because she was tall, with coal dark hair falling straight to her shoulders, and she wore glasses: rectangular frames of wisp-thin wire. I was smitten, badly. But she was with her coworkers and fell back into conversation with them. I had to try three times to coherently give my drink order to the espresso jerk, “soy lat– er, non-fat lat–, I mean au lait with an add-a-shot.”
Damn, and she was wearing a purple, silk blouse to boot. I’ll have to go by that Starbucks again.
