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Thankful Thursdays #67: ding dong, the glasses are dead!

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Happy happy, joy joy!  I never thought the day would come when I would be thankful for the death and destruction of Den’s glasses.  I often threatened to burn them, to run over them, to toss them in the trash, but alas I couldn’t do that to my hubby, who was hopelessly devoted to them.  He was bound and determined, it seemed, to keep them for all eternity.  But blessedly, the day has finally come when they snapped under the pressure of being the ugliest, oldest pair of glasses on the planet.  I think the shame of their ugliness led them to commit suicide.

Dennis bought these glasses in 1985, people.  I was five years old when he bought them!!  Who keeps a pair of glasses that long?  They turned gangrenous the way cheap metal does, and there is some really horrid-looking stuff seemingly growing beneath the nose piece. BLARF.

I can’t believe I even touched these. *shudder*

I feel the urge to soak my hands in bleach just looking at this photo.

By the way, on a total random note, but sort of related since I’m thinking of my poor hand, check out the wicked manicure I did for St. Patrick’s Day:

ANYWAY.  Although this style of glasses actually came back into fashion recently (seriously, who keeps something so long that it goes in and out of fashion before you get rid of it???), they were never a good look for him.

To prove my point, I submit exhibit A, B & C:

Not. a. good. look.

In contrast, here is Dennis wearing the glasses that I helped him pick out:

Much better.

The old glasses have made me gag since the first time he put them on in front of me.  He doesn’t wear his glasses all the time (though he’s supposed to), only for driving, so the first time we went for a ride together, despite not knowing him very well, I laughed out loud.

“What us UP with your glasses?!  They make you look like a beefcake.”

Unbeknownst to me, beefcake actually refers to a hot semi-nude male, which Dennis took great delight in telling me.

Only momentarily flustered, I countered, “OK, well, it makes you the opposite of a beefcake, then.  Like a beefy jock, and not the beefcake kind, that is illiterate and maybe was dropped on his head as a kid…and uses steroids that makes him look fluffy instead of defined.  Those glasses totally take away your definition.  They are so. wrong.”

Yes, I was harsh, but need I remind you how bad his glasses were???

Dennis never had any great rebuttals to my tirades, which he was exposed to many times over the years as my hatred of the glasses grew, as did the many ways I plotted to destroy them if he refused to throw them away, but he always found them hilarious.  (Honestly, I would have stopped if it hurt his feelings, but I did it mostly for the satisfaction of making him laugh.)

My hatred for his beloved glasses became a running joke between us, to the point that when we witnessed the ear piece fall off when he tried to put them on before an errand, we both laughed uproariously.  Dennis asked if I was going to burn them the next time we went camping, a scenario I had vocally fantasized about on numerous occasions, but I told him no.  They had suffered enough.  They deserved to rest in peace.

Fare thee well, my tenacious gangrenous foes.  Enjoy your afterlife in the dump.

Amen and amen.

P.S. Can you tell what kind of recipe I’ll be sharing on Friday? :)

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