We all have moments we wish could simply vanish into thin air. Some are minor, like tripping over our own feet or sending a text to the wrong person. But then there are those moments that feel absurdly dramatic—like being caught wearing glasses while reading literature. Yes, you heard that right.
It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just me, a classic novel, and my not-so-secret prescription glasses. I had settled comfortably in my favorite reading nook, flipping through the pages with the kind of enthusiasm only book lovers understand. The moment felt almost cinematic—sunlight pouring in through the window, a cup of tea within reach, and my intellectual persona fully activated. That was until I heard the voice.
“Wait. Are you actually wearing glasses… to read?”
My peaceful moment shattered like a dropped porcelain cup. I looked up, wide-eyed, at the figure standing in the doorway. It was my friend, my so-called best friend, who had somehow managed to walk in at the most inopportune moment. And there she stood, arms crossed, with a smirk playing at the edges of her lips.
The Betrayal of the Century
I should have known better than to assume privacy in my own space. There are few things as humiliating as being caught doing something completely normal, yet inexplicably embarrassing. My friend had never seen me in glasses before—an accessory I had resisted wearing in public for years. My logic? Glasses were meant for functionality, not for style, and certainly not for reading in solitude where nobody was supposed to judge me.
Except, apparently, the universe had other plans.
“Since when do you wear those?” she asked, inching closer like an investigator about to uncover a deep, dark secret.
I hesitated, weighing my options. Do I lie and say they belong to a mysterious intellectual relative? Do I admit I have been secretly wearing glasses for years but refuse to acknowledge it? Do I throw the book at her and run?
“They’re just for reading,” I muttered, hoping the conversation would end there.
It didn’t.
The Unnecessary Commentary
“Oh, wow. This is such a moment,” she continued, dramatically pulling out her phone as if she were about to document the ‘scandal’ for future generations. “Look at you! Glasses, literature… What’s next? A cup of black coffee and philosophical debates?”
I groaned. The teasing was relentless. Suddenly, I was being painted as some kind of literary scholar who spent weekends in bookstores contemplating existential questions.
To be fair, I do love bookstores. And existential questions. But that was beside the point.
“You look… smart,” she said finally, as if the idea was both shocking and amusing.
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you implying I didn’t look smart before?”
“Not at all,” she said, barely suppressing a grin. “It’s just… unexpected. And kind of cute.”
I wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. Either way, my moment of intellectual solitude was officially ruined.
The Existential Crisis
After my friend finally left, still giggling to herself, I stared at my book with newfound skepticism. Was I actually embarrassed about wearing glasses? Was it that big of a deal? And why did it suddenly feel like an entire personality shift?
Somehow, glasses had become symbolic. They represented a side of me I didn’t always show—one that was quieter, more introspective, less concerned with appearances and more engaged with the world of ideas. Maybe I had avoided wearing them because they felt like an admission, a declaration that I was, indeed, the bookish nerd I had long pretended not to be.
But was that really a bad thing?
Embracing the Look
A few days later, I found myself walking past a mirror, wearing the same glasses, holding yet another book. This time, I didn’t immediately rip them off when someone entered the room. Instead, I adjusted them like I had seen characters do in movies—cool, collected, like I had always known they were a part of me.
Maybe the teasing wasn’t so bad. Maybe the glasses didn’t define me, but they also didn’t take anything away. And maybe—just maybe—I had been the only one making a big deal out of it all along.
So, here’s my final thought: If you ever get caught wearing your glasses while reading literature, embrace it. Own the moment. And if someone teases you, just push your glasses up, look them in the eye, and say something deeply profound.
Or, you know, throw the book at them. Either works.
