Hey, four-eyes.

The time has come, myopia said, to talk of many things: of frames and lenses and nearsightedness, of how tiny my face is and how nearly blind I am.

First impressions?

It's been a few years since the last time I had an eye exam, and in the meantime, I've grown increasingly worse at seeing anything further than three inches from my face in focus. I dread needing new glasses, not only because it reminds me of my imperfect human body, but also because I cherish familiarity and fear change. My glasses are, in a sense, my most prized possession: if asked, I wouldn't think to put them on the list of things I'd rescue from a burning building -- because they'd already be on my face. Otherwise, I'd probably die in the fire.

The last time I needed new glasses, I panicked when it came time to choose the frames. I had narrowed down my options to a handful of nearly identical thick, black, rectangular frames when the saleswoman negged me, suggesting a $100+ pair of designer frames that she said, "look like the ones you have now, but more...feminine." I was so offended that I bought them immediately. What a chump.

This time, I'm trying to avoid succumbing to my usual paralyzing fear response when required to make an important decision in a limited period of time with both money and personal vanity on the line, so I decided to go the Warby Parker route. Despite knowing that any successful new brand's popularity is at least 60% due to savvy marketing, I can still be genuinely impressed with Warby Parker's 1) flat pricing (nearly every pair of glasses costs $95, including prescription lenses), 2) generous but not overwhelming selection of frames, and 3) free home try-on program, which allows me to choose five possible frames from their website and have them shipped to my front door. Also, all of their models look really cool, but like they're not trying to look cool, and I'm into that. I'm Warby Parker's target audience. They got me.

My five frames arrived today, surprisingly quickly (although don't ask how long it took me to narrow my choices down to five). As a packaging aficionado, I appreciated the box they came in: simple black with a white Warby Parker logo on the side, which unfolded to reveal a plastic tray with each of the test frames individually wrapped in its own labeled plastic bag and a free return shipping label for the end of my trial week. But first, my current glasses, for reference:

My cousins and I once showed up to a family event wearing matching glasses...all four of us.

I like these, although I could do without the Coach logo emblazoned across the arms, misleading anyone who views me in profile into thinking that I'm much fancier than I am. They also tend to slip down my nose a little bit and tip sideways, as a result of -- and I'm just now coming to terms with this -- my crooked ears. So, slightly larger, squarer frames would fix that, right?

Nash in Crystal

 These would be great if I were a super hip lady scientist, but I don't know how well they suit my actual life. They look kinda like lab goggles.

Wilkie in Whiskey Tortoise

 Now you see what I mean about my crooked ears.

Oliver in Whiskey Tortoise

These look almost identical to the previous design, so much so that I'm not positive I've labeled the two correctly. Compared side by side, one is slightly wider and the other is slightly taller, but it's hard to tell in these pictures. I don't mind these, and although I went with tortoiseshell as a way of breaking out of my boring black frames rut, I actually like the way they complement my poorly maintained ombré hair.

Cass in Blue Slate Fade

 I love these...but yes, I realize they take up an entire third of my face. The blue is nice, though: more color than I've worn since my very first pair of pink plastic frames in kindergarten (terrible eyesight runs in the family), but subtle enough that I wouldn't be concerned about not matching any of my clothes...most of which are black anyway.

Chamberlain in Whiskey Tortoise

THESE ARE HUGE AND I LOVE THEM. It's just that I think it's already obvious what a giant nerd I am without having the glasses to confirm it, you know?

So, it turns out five frames is either still too many choices, or not enough. Help.

If Chris Evans Were Your Boyfriend.

Inspired by the incomparable, inimitable, ethereal Nicole Cliffe and Mallory Ortberg's "If ___________ Were Your Boy/Girlfriend" series (see: Channing Tatum, Kristen Stewart, Stanley Tucci).

• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he would always help you make dinner. He would take his role as kitchen helper very seriously, and his strong hands would make quick work of all the onion chopping. He would insist on wearing an apron the first time as a joke, but would continue wearing it on all subsequent occasions.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he would point out constellations to you on clear nights. The first time you spotted one before he did, he would look at you and smile, wordlessly, with pride in his eyes.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he'd never let you be cold. At the slightest hint of a shiver, he'd wrap his arm around you, or rush to find a blanket, or pull off his own wool-blend navy sweater to layer over your too-thin cardigan. He'd get one look at you drowning in the fabric before bursting into laughter. As you scowled and tried to swat at him with one floppy sweater arm, he'd only laugh harder, falling back onto the couch and pulling you down with him.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, you would learn to love the Red Sox, and a "Boston Strong" t-shirt would somehow find its way into your closet.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, you would be surprised to learn that he doesn't care much for ice cream; cold foods gave him headaches, he'd confess. You'd say you couldn't imagine anything more comforting at the end of a bad day. The next time you went grocery shopping together, Chris would disappear for a few minutes and return with three pints of Ben & Jerry's in his arms, "just in case."
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he'd refer to you as "my girl" and you'd love it.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, his choice for movie night would always be a wild card: one week he'd be insistent on a double feature of the Dardenne brothers' Two Days, One Night followed by Fruitvale Station; the next, he'd just really want to watch Superbad again.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, you wouldn't mind finding something else to do when his brother came by, understanding that boys need time to be boys. Scott would take to you immediately in a little-brother sort of way, offering to fight Chris on your behalf if he ever mistreated you in the slightest. He'd even offer you the second Xbox controller when Chris disappeared into the bathroom for too long before hearing his brother's alarmed voice from the hallway: "No way, dude. She'll wreck you."
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, you'd take up running, just to feel less ashamed by your decidedly un-superheroic physique. He would join you on the rare morning he wasn't required on set until after lunch, except on the single occasion you managed to wake up before his alarm went off. Perched on the edge of the bed, sleepily lacing up your sneakers, you'd feel a gentle tug on the back of your shirt: "No," you'd hear. "Stay in with me."
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he wouldn't know what flowers to buy you, but he'd make up for it in other ways. He'd buy you a balloon at Disneyland, get Benedict Cumberbatch's autograph for you from the BAFTAs. He'd build you a snowman.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, you would be intimidated by his female co-stars. You'd meet Hayley Atwell for the first time at a red carpet event, stunning in a smokey eye and black taffeta gown, but before Chris could introduce you, she would extend a hand and say, "It's so nice to finally meet you. I've heard such good things from Chris," and you'd know that she meant it. Scarlett would be a tougher nut to crack, initially aloof and reaffirming your uneasy sense of being an outsider at Tom Hiddleston's casual London get-together, until you told the story about ordering Mexican food in Paris and heard her laugh from across the room, not realizing she'd even been listening. "You're right, Chris," she'd call over. "She's hilarious."
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he wouldn't be embarrassed to ask you the definition of a word. "Babe?" he'd ask gently, looking up from his copy of In Cold Blood. "'Timorous,' what does that mean?" "Hm? Oh, it's like...kind of shy, or nervous." He'd pause for a second: "Huh. Okay. Thanks." He'd make sure you caught his grateful smile before he settled back in to keep reading.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he'd say he loved your voice when you sang.
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he would tease you about your fondness for his worn flannel shirts. One day, after he had been gone all day doing press events, you would fall asleep in the living room wrapped in the red buffalo plaid he looks so good in and wake up to a kiss on the forehead and a "Hey, sleepyhead. Miss me?"
• If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, he would spend far too long choosing the right Christmas tree and you would be just starting to grow impatient with him at the exact moment he'd exclaim, "This one!", and it would be the nicest tree you'd ever seen.