Every two years, I prioritize my eye exam. By that I mean, the nice office administrator of my optometrist office calls to remind me it鈥檚 time to book my check-up, then books the appointment, and then calls me to remind me to show up for said appointment. And I do.
I go even though I know I鈥檓 going to get thicker lenses because my eyes are aging faster than I care to admit, thanks in large part to entire days spent before a computer screen, a phone and a television screen (the later is within my control, but I use TV to avoid the reality of the world by watching art imitate life and saying clever things like, 鈥渢his is so fake. That would never happen.鈥� Only now, most of the stuff is happening).
I go even though they use that eye poof machine, which, to be clear, is not its technical name, but if you just blinked reading that line, you know the machine I mean.
鈥淟ook at the farm house and keep your eyes open,鈥� the nice technician says before blasting your eyeball with a puff of air, making you jump out of your skin. 鈥淵ou blinked. Let鈥檚 try that again,鈥� she said five more times. She assures me there are people who don鈥檛 flinch. I assure her it鈥檚 because they are dead inside. She doesn鈥檛 laugh.
Then, after failed attempts at reading the eye chart with the lens apparatus that looks like something out of an episode of Dr. Who, where you have to say if it鈥檚 clear before or after they flip the lenses, over and over again, to the point you aren鈥檛 even sure if your vision is clear anymore or if you鈥檙e just lying in hopes there is a reward at the end of it all.
That reward is dilated pupils. Big as saucers. I looked stoned and was therefore paranoid that everyone in the waiting room thought it too. Make no eye contact. Stare forward.
None of this is a complaint. I like my optometrist office. For about an hour, I can鈥檛 be anywhere else but present in the reality that I鈥檓 doing something good for my tiny hazel peepers. Eye health is important.
When the diagnosis is complete, I walk over to see my friend Melodee, who has chosen every pair of glasses I鈥檝e worn for 20 years now. She is the glass frame guru. And she has a sense of humour which helps when I say things like, 鈥渃an you make sure I don鈥檛 look like Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys,鈥� to which she replies, without missing a beat, 鈥淚 can鈥檛 make any promises.鈥� I trust this woman beyond measure.
I got two pairs of glasses: one half bifocal, one round bifocal. Or, as we say in our house, the ones that help me walk into walls and the ones that make me dangerous near stairs. In a week, I鈥檒l be able to master these spectacles without making a spectacle.
The Carpenter doesn鈥檛 need glasses, he insists, despite my recent discovery that he鈥檚 been using a magnifying glass to read the small font in crossword puzzles. He prefers to squint his big brown eyes, furrowing his brows and scrunching his nose up like he鈥檚 encountered a bad smell whilst trying to count the boxes for letters. His denial is adorable.
Don鈥檛 take your vision for granted. Take care of your beautiful eyes.
