Dammit! Perfect eyes again 🙁
Every year I go to the eye specialist hoping, praying, begging that this will be the year she gives me a prescription, but nooooo, I get the nasty eye drops, I look like I’m stoned for the better part of a day with my pupils so super dilated, I get my eye pressure taken, which by the way so not fun, I get the blinding light shone directly into my cornea, and all I ask in return, is to be told, you need glasses. And every year, the specialist keeps coming at me with “Pristine eyes” “No diabetes damage here” “So great to see you” I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THOSE WORDS!!!
For fear of being offed by every sight deficient person in the world, I should probably elaborate here. I don’t want to be blind, and I don’t want diabetes damage to my eyes, I just want the need for glasses. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to wear glasses. My sister was the lucky one in our family (although she never truly appreciated her luck; repeatedly burying her glasses in the park near the house so she wouldn’t have to wear them) and I used to sit in front of the mirror for what seemed like hours with her glasses on; my friends in Grade school with glasses, I used to pluck them off their heads and stick ’em on mine every opportunity I got; and when Mario and I got together, I was in near heaven when I learned of his blurry vision – finally, I had real reason to go into the eye shops and try on every pair they had! What can I say, I look good in glasses, and really, you can’t deny good fashion 😉
And today, I thought I was so close to that dream finally becoming a reality. In the dark room, with my chin planted on the Clockwork Orange like contraption and my head strapped in, the specialist announced I was still looking good at 20 something vision (I can’t remember what number she gave me). When I asked what that meant, she told me a slight near sight. And ohmygawd, my head jerked back, my eyes grew wide, my smile erupted. “Do I need glasses,” I asked, giddy as a schoolgirl mounting her first pony. No, she said. We might as well just call my specialist Little Miss Negative Nelly. Despite seeing my excitement, despite knowing that with one mere second, a flick of her pen really, she could make a girl’s dream come true, but noooooo she’s got to strike it down. Apparently it’s only a slight, slight, slight near sight, not worth a prescription, she told me. She didn’t care that I look good in glasses, didn’t care that I want glasses, didn’t care that I am being deprived in the fashion world, she just kept saying you don’t need them, kept telling me this is good news, most would kill for my eyes.
The feeling is mutual – I’d kill for theirs!
In other news… further proof that stubborness is genetic, especially in my family: my great nephew. After 40 hours in labour – 40 HOURS!!! – my super amazing, tough as nails niece finally delivered The Great One last night. Apparently, he was rather comfy in his mama’s belly 😀