The Foob is quicker than the eye.
To continue on from where I left, it's sadly typical that we have to wait six years to see what the real problem Liz has with eyeglasses is when Elly is forced to have to start to wear reading glasses. By then, it's established that Elly's default belief that her life was all used up and gone forever and ever had gotten worse than it is now because she was in the earliest stages of the menopause she's convinced heralds in the death due to rampaging senility she's feared since the obstetrician told her it was a boy so she isn't exactly going to be looking forward to another sign of her encroaching senescence and obsolescence.
This means that she squints, holds reading material at arm's length and complains about fine print for months so as to avoid the latest horrible reminder that her life slipped through her fingers without her noticing it before Liz finally suggests that she take an eye exam. This also means not wearing them in public because she's vain and silly and not wearing them in private because, horror of horrors, she's been reminded in the worst possible way that she's the spitting image of the mother she sees as an old crone from a zillion years ago who's too oooooooold to live.
So much for maturity, right? We're dealing with someone who's sixteen and a bit acting like anything over twenty five is practically freaking dead and buried. We're also dealing with a five year old whose idea of empathy means that everyone thinks the way she does. What we aren't dealing with is an adult who can cope with the idea that kids might want to be able to see things clearly or someone who can be trusted to have an opinion that might help people.
This means that she squints, holds reading material at arm's length and complains about fine print for months so as to avoid the latest horrible reminder that her life slipped through her fingers without her noticing it before Liz finally suggests that she take an eye exam. This also means not wearing them in public because she's vain and silly and not wearing them in private because, horror of horrors, she's been reminded in the worst possible way that she's the spitting image of the mother she sees as an old crone from a zillion years ago who's too oooooooold to live.
So much for maturity, right? We're dealing with someone who's sixteen and a bit acting like anything over twenty five is practically freaking dead and buried. We're also dealing with a five year old whose idea of empathy means that everyone thinks the way she does. What we aren't dealing with is an adult who can cope with the idea that kids might want to be able to see things clearly or someone who can be trusted to have an opinion that might help people.