I need new glasses. I'm not only bored with my old frames (rectangular, faux tortoise shell), I can no longer focus through them. That's a problem. It's also very scary, since my eyesight has steadily deteriorated since I started wearing glasses in the fourth grade. Back then I only needed them to see the black board, now I can't even read a book with out them. And I'm not talking a book held at arms length. I need to hold the book at most three inches my face to miraculously change the rows of fuzzy caterpillars into lines of text.

When I was a kid I had no real choice of what glasses I ended up with. Medicaid covered them, but I could only choose from the three cheapest, ugliest frames the eye doctor kept hidden away in a dusty drawer, ready to spring on some poor, disadvantaged kid such as myself. I grew up hating glasses. Each year my eyes appeared smaller and smaller as a result of the reverse magnification of my myopic lenses. I rejoiced when I was old enough to get contacts, which I have worn sporadically over the ensuing years. Since I now work almost exclusively on computers, contacts have become an annoyance. My eyes dry out from all the staring that's involved in what I do for a living. But it's summer and I hate the feeling of hot, heavy (remember, my lenses are thick) glasses sliding down my sweat drenched nose. I've also never been able to find frames that look "right" on me. I wanted to find the perfect pair: glasses that would enhance my over all look, not stick out like they were a detriment pasted on my face like a tragic afterthought.

Today I decided to shop for the perfect specs. I braved the 95° weather and walked down Spring Street in search of an optometrist. I knew there were several in the neighborhood, but I can never remember where. I see vision stores every where I look, until I really need one. I walked all the way down to West Broadway and into Morgenthal-Frederics. I'd been there last year, when I wanted contacts, which I was politely informed they do not sell. Okay. So today I walked in and was immediately pounced on by this bald, gay man who asked if I needed any help. I gave him my usual noncommittal smile.

"I'm just looking."

"Yes, well the frames we have out are not all the frames we have, they are but a fraction of our inventory. Let me know if you would like to see something specific."

I smiled and walked around looking at, well, sunglasses mostly. That's what they had out. 'Tis the season. There was a pretty woman at the counter trying on these rather odd looking glasses; they were small and perfectly round, with a long nosepiece in between the lenses. The conversation between her and the salesman was intense. It was more like she was looking to buy Manhattan real estate, not a pair of glasses.

The bald man accosted me again.

"Are you looking for plastic or wire?"

"Plastic."

"Any particular style?"

"Yeah, I want something cat-like, but not too harsh."

He started opening little metal drawers, the kind that look like they belong in an olde tyme apothecary shoppe.

"What color do you prefer?"

"Brownish."

He selected five frames, then walked over to the counter and took out a sixth pair, which he showed to the other salesman with a knowing smile.

"We can use this mirror over here."

I sat down on an old metal and wood school chair in front of large, beveled mirror. He gave me the glasses one by one, all the while appraising the effect they had on my face.

"Oh, those look very nice."

"No, those are too angular for you face."

"These are like the other pair, but less angular."

I knew I hit the jackpot the second the right pair slid up the bridge of my nose. Cat-eyed, but not terribly pointy, no awkward upward swoop at the outer edge. Thankfully there were no rhinestones, although they did have glasses with rhinestones in the window. I'd like to point out that these particular glasses were the ones my bald salesman was so subtly emphatic about when he took them out of the counter case.

"Yes, we just made them in that color, they come in several other colors as well."

"Can I see the other colors?"

"Of course!"

He walked away and I put the glasses on and took them off again. A man wearing thick black rims and holding a camera looked at me. For moment I thought I looked so fabulous in the glasses that he would surely take my picture. Of course, he didn't. Then I noticed the price tag affixed to the inside of one of the arms.

$365.

That's more than I paid for my last pair of glasses, frames and lenses combined. My glasses tend to be very expensive, thanks to my insanely poor vision. I always splurge on high index lenses, the ones that whittle my coke bottles down to, well, thinner coke bottles. Anyway, the last frames I bought cost $150. For a moment I considered taking my wallet and running out of the store.

He came back with four variations on the perfect-glasses-theme and, one by one, I tried them on. None looked as good on me as the original pair, although the navy blue ones were pretty spiffy.

"These look nice," I said.

"Yes," he sighed, "I don't know about you, but I have forty pairs of glasses at home, like I have forty different ties. Well, not that I'm wearing a tie today," He wasn't. "But the navy blue, they're seasonal. They look very nice because you're wearing short sleeves. The brown will go with more outfits."

While he was rattling on and on all I could think was that at $365 a pop--just for the frames--I can't imagine I'll ever buy another pair of glasses. Ever again.

I was somehow deluding myself that the lenses wouldn't cost that much. I mean, the frames already cost more than my last pair of glasses, the lenses couldn't be that expensive, right?

Riiiight.

The total topped off just over, Lord it pains me to say this, eight hundred dollars. Is this how the other half lives? Spending eight hundred dollars on glasses? Have I gone insane? I think I just might have, because the next thing you know, I was handing Mr. Forty-Pairs-Of-Glasses my MasterCard.

Could it be that I am making up for all the ugly nerd glasses I've had inflicted on my face for the past twenty years? Maybe. But damn, those frames make me look good. And I don't just look good--I look good in glasses. I guess that's my rationalization. Uh, yeah. Sure. That's it.

Good thing Oxford Health Care has a $120 vision reimbursement. I think it will definitely take the edge off. Yeah. Right.