Greg has been encouraging me to have my eyes checked for years—three to be exact. That is when I had my last eye exam and I found the experience rather awful and quite frankly, unnecessary!
The Optometrist had suggested I come back to determine if there has been any change in my vision since 2009—there hasn’t. This is the same year I last had blood work done as well. Try to catch me.
She suggested I come in for new pictures of the back of my eyeballs, she suggested she drop more yellow goo in my eyes and then she suggested she would flash bright lights at me and ask me if the letter “E” on the screen was fuzzier in film four than film seventy-three.
That is irrelevant.
She suggested all of this to Greg in an attempt to lure me back to the office where she sweetly chatted to me while she pretended the probe that actually touched my eyeball did so unintentionally, until she did it to the second eye. Fooled me twice.
I really just see the office as an architectural feature holding up my drug store located conveniently next door.
I agreed to her terms but only because the pressure from Greg to have my eyes checked had become all consuming. It had nothing to do with him thinking I had a vision problem though, ever since his Lasik surgery, he does like to challenge the woman who has never worn glasses in “Who can read the street sign first” competitions and I ALWAYS WIN.
He and the Doctor agreed having good eye health is important—sure it is, if you think you have a problem, which I do not.
They also agreed I should own a decent pair of sunglasses which I also disagree with. I have about twelve pair of Old Navy/Winners/Marshall’s/mostly Winners, totally fashionable, affordable, covered in crumbs and smudges sunglasses and I have no physical attachment to them whatsoever. If I remove any one of them from the top of my head while trying on a t-shirt and forget them in a change room, I simply reach for a $9 back-up and never look back. I guess if I did look back, I wouldn’t lose quite so many.
This nagging was growing old and I conceded to a visit to the Doctor provided she and Greg agreed to my terms and also agreed to stop having these private meetings where my retinas and pupils were the focus.
“Will there be any drops shot into my eyeballs?”
Greg: No, they didn’t do that to me so NO, THERE WILL ABSOLUTELY UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES BE ANY DROPS FORCED INTO YOUR EYEBALLS.
Me: Hi Dr.—Greg told me you wouldn’t be using any drops today?
Dr: We do have to use some drops to check bla bla bla
Liars–both of them.
I felt a little queasy when she decided it was important I look at the pictures of the veins behind my eyeballs. Why this was important will remain a mystery. She could have been showing me a series of entwined garden hoses, provided they were meant to look like that, I really just saw this exchange as gross.
After the drops—dear God, the drops, the slide show, the click-the-joy-stick-when-the-fuzzy-thing-appears game, we agreed to hit the shelves for a decent pair of sunglasses.
It should be noted, of the dozen pair currently in my van, my purse or on the kitchen counter the retail value might total somewhere in the neighbourhood of $100—for all twelve.
Imagine Greg’s surprise when I came into the house wearing a new pair of Maui Jim sunglasses that didn’t look any different (at least to me) from the scuffed pairs I was quite happy wearing up until Operation “Spy-Wear Eye-Wear” he and Dr. Evil set in motion.
“Holy F%$#!!!! You spent $225 on a pair of sunglasses?”
That should show him.
