I was seven, and my Spanish teacher told me I was squinting at the board. I was happy enough being nearsighted; as long as I could read at night, it was all good.
I can’t do that anymore. I inch notes closer and closer to my nose until it hits the sweet spot between where it’s blurry and where my eyes are crossed. But it’s all good.
This post is part of the A-Z Challenge. My theme is April Scribble, which includes microfiction, small vignettes, and poetry.
For more alphabetical goodness, click here.