I went to the optometrist this week, something I haven't done in ages (years, truth be told) because I wear my two-week disposable contacts for months at a time. Why would I throw away something that is working like a perfectly oiled machine? What do you think I am, some kind of plastic-wasting earth hater? No. I value the earth. I value it so much that I avoid purchasing new lenses at all costs. It's not because I'm a cheapskate who hates going to the doctor, it's because I'm giving the planet a big hug with my eyes.
Unfortunately for me I lost my right lens Saturday night. There I was, plopping the flimsy little darlings into their case as I crawled into bed. I shut the lid and gave them a fond pat and bid them adieu until the gentle rays of the morning light would caress the curves of my face once again and it would be time to SEE.
At some point in the night the Jude unleashed a rushing river of pee and ended up buffy-mc-nuding-it in our bed through the wee hours of the most painfully early dawn. He hugged my neck and whispered about his bear. "Da bear. Da bear. Hug Mama. Shhhhh quiets," and we all drifted back in to a mediocre approximation of rest.
Some hours later I traipsed downstairs to put my eyeballs in and discovered that the right side of my contact case was alarmingly vacant like the tweets of Kim Kardashian.
"Joooon?" I quailed hesitantly from the bathroom, reticent to tell him the news that I had yet again lost my very last lens. I am notorious for losing the very last lens, always on a Sunday during a power outage while all available vision centers are on vacation and there's a country-wide shortage of plastic. Jon tolerates this behavior with thinly veiled eye rolling and demands that I "ORDER MORE CONTACTS !!@!(&@" which I take as a personal challenge to willfully disobey. Who does he think I am, someone reasonable? No. Quit being weird.
He floated around the corner and appeared behind me, a blurry Jon-amoeba hovering over my shoulder. "What?"
"...Do you, uh, see a contact lens anywhere around here with your working eyes?"
"No, I don't,
...but I guess that explains that crusty little plastic thing I just peeled off Jude's butt."
And so it was that I found myself sitting in the waiting area of a new optometrist, one who would assumably look at my eyeballs and verify that yes, indeed, I am quite blind. And may I have my trial lenses now so I can get these horrific glasses off my face? I can't handle the nose-sliding. Thanks great. Cha-ching!
When I mention to people that I wear, nay, require contact lenses they always want to compare prescriptions so that we can have the inevitable "who is blinder-er" blind-off. After that we whip out our penises and measuring tapes. No matter what prescription number the other person says I reply with, "Whoa!" and discontinue conversation. Because dude. I am way more blinder than you, but you will never believe me. You win. Feel big now, with your most poorly formed eyes? Here's your trophy, it's this cookie. I licked it when you weren't looking.
My new doctor and I sat in the dark and got to know each other with all the fumbling fuzziness of a blind date. I thought that would be a really great simile to describe meeting her before it occurred to me that I'm writing about an optometrist and now it's just a really lame pun. BLIND, GET IT?! AHA. HA. HA. However, in stark comparison to my previous frigidly snooty old dude optometrist she and I got along swimmingly well, except for all the times that she told me that my eyeballs might fly apart at any second and I should be vigilant signs of their demise.
Oh yeah, That. That is apparently a side effect of being super blind. They call it retinal detachment for official science purposes but I shall henceforth refer to it as "DANGER! my eminent eyeball explosion." Those suckers could pop right out any moment and lightening would spring forth to fry your soul! I think they're hiding the Ark of the Covenant in there. After her warning bells rang about my possible internal combustion she pleasantly flipped out a pair of replacement lenses, "Here! I bet you're glad to not see these!"
Oh bless your heart, you sweet thing.