New pair of eyeglasses adds to his body-language arsenal

Lovely One calls me Henry Kissinger. My fearless editor calls me Rachel Maddow, which is better than being called Chris Hayes, the Maddow shadow at MSNBC, “the place for politics,” and prison shows.

I got glasses a couple weeks ago.

Rather than Kissinger or Maddow, I like to think my eyewear resembles that of Michael Douglas in the feel-good movie of 1993, “Falling Down.” Fuy, because I nearly fell down when I walked out of the eye doctor’s office with my new glasses on and missed the curb, transfixed on my newfound ability to read far-off license plates for the first time in years.

Which reminds me of a joke. Did you hear the one about the optometrist who fell into the lens grinder? He made a spectacle of himself.

Anyway. Lovely One wasn’t home when I arrived with my glasses on. Which gave me time to open the door of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Typically, I angle the medicine cabinet door so that it reflects the main mirror in the bathroom, thus providing multiple views of my hair as I lather it with pomade and rake a manly patte into the coif.

With Lovely One gone, I was able to look at my bespectacled face from multiple angles. Confident that I could pull of the “glasses guy” look, I hit the couch for an afteoon of golf touament-watching, made much more pleasurable by the fact that I could see the holes in each green and not just two yellow flags.

Lovely One got home and joined me on the couch. I refused to look in her direction.

“So, what d’you think?” I asked.

“Hm,” she said. “I’m mildly aroused.”

Boy, howdy, can Ol’ Dulaney pull off a look. I considered capitalizing on the compliment, but Bubba Watson was charging hard at Riviera Country Club, so I took a mulligan.

I don’t know that I’ll ever be comfortable as Glasses Guy. While I’m enjoying the sight of highway signs, individual leaves on trees and being able to read bar menus without squinting, I don’t want people to assume I’ve always wo glasses.

And I haven’t yet kissed Lovely One while wearing them. Beer goggles sure, but no glasses. Seriously, I feel like I’m going to take her eye out if I kiss her with my glasses on.

On the other hand, the glasses have added a certain gravitas to my verbal word-smithing. When I want to feign solemnity, I pause before speaking — and slowly pull them off.

Then there’s the “casual listener” move. Accomplished by cleaning the glasses while someone is speaking, it’s a nonchalant power move that demonstrates my ears must be eaed. Impress me pal. Make me — just make me — look up from the glasses cleaning to acknowledge you’ve said something interesting.

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I also fancy the “temple chew.” Take the glasses off, put the temples between the teeth, and voila, anything you say is going to be insightful, powerful and even world-changing. Try it. In any situation, nibble on the temples and utter the words, “That’s not goa work, chief.” Put the glasses back on and go back to whatever you were doing. You are now a leader of men.

Contact Josh Dulaney at [email protected]