It’s not that I’m a shallow person. The world just looks to me as if it’s shallow.
I have no depth perception. When I was born, the gods were doing this “Build a Geek” challenge, and I ended up with severely crossed eyes. To fix this, I went through eye surgery at about 6 years old, where they cut some of the muscles in my left eye to make it less of a bitch to keep up with. The surgery itself was terrifying, but since my dad lied and told me it was laser surgery, I was merely excited at the prospect of “science-ing” my way to betterness.
I woke up half an hour early, as they were lifting me into a wheeled hospital bed to bring me to my room. They had put gauze and some wire mesh cups that felt like tiny sieves over my eyes to keep me from rubbing them, and in my child’s mind, I initially panicked that I now resembled Jeff Goldblum in “The Fly” (in Fly-form, of course). Happily, I still had human eyes somewhere under all that, and after several days of waking up to take pills and squeeze my parents’ hands for reassurance, I no longer suffered double-vision.
To celebrate, the doctors slapped a pair of Coke-bottle-style glasses on my tiny little face, ensuring I maintained my place on the Build-a-Geek ladder. In the same year, a different doctor noted that I walked pigeon-toed, so at the tender age of seven, I was given leg braces. Somehow, the gods knew that Forrest Gump would win six Academy Awards, and hoped to take advantage of the homage.