Seeing double

Aphorism aside, bats aren’t really blind: they use sonar to get around, giving them a huge evolutionary advantage over me. Whereas bats squeak and squawk to avoid bumping into walls, I’m reduced to squeaking and squawking after doing so. Bats belong to the only species of flying mammal, while I belong to the only species of crying mammal, and we both seem particularly adept at our respective skills.

Fortunately for bats, they don’t have to drive and are therefore spared having to make sense out of road signs, which I’ve learned to ignore. For months now, I’ve navigated by instinct alone. I can't read a road sign unless I park on top of the damn thing and squint through my glasses.

Plosh’s vision plan now includes families, so I persuaded him to give my overworked, glare-sensitive peepers some relief. I’d lost my only pair of prescription sunglasses when Minitaur tossed them out of his stroller nearly two years ago, somewhere in the midst of the filthiest, most cluttered Wal-Mart’s in creation, which is saying a lot.

I combed every disheveled aisle, pored over the cheap, bent frames in the lost-and-found and raked through the sunglasses display hoping someone had absently tucked them there. My conclusion: without a security tag, my $200 Ray-Bans had found their way into someone’s purse or pocket. Whatever schlock I’d gone in there to buy ended up costing me two years of seeing straight, and I’ve never gone back.

My regular glasses did double duty indoors and out until yesterday, when, with our bank account sorely depleted and the hubby’s patience for further expenses worn thin, I set off for the eye doctor. She was as sweet and chatty as I remembered, yakking cheerfully about her kids before turning me over to the store clerk for my pre-screening.

My right eye did fine. The 20/20 print yielded itself to reading with only a few squints and by memorizing the letters. Hah! Maybe I didn't even need glasses. My sea-greens were getting better with age, like fine wine.

But the left eye wandered helplessly over all those fuzzy, black bugs skittering across the screen. Wait ‘til it focuses, I told the guy. That whole eye patch thing, it just throws me off, okay? But a minute later, those bugs were still buzzing out of reach, refusing to be read.

Fine wine. Suuuure.

It got worse with the glare test, when I had to click a plastic trigger, like a mouse button, every time I saw a flashing light. Focus on the yellow light in the center of the screen, the man says. Which one, I ask. He insists there’s only one.

The doctor’s prognosis: I’m middle-aged and I read too much. I need bifocals and sunglasses. With coupons and the vision plan, which reimburses only for frames, it worked out cheaper to buy two new frames rather than simply replace the regular lenses and then spring for sunglasses.

Even so, the tally was over $300, and I left deflated and fearful of the hubby’s wrath, even after phoning him to brace him for the bad news. He took it well, which is to say he muttered to himself and then stalked off to take a nap (he's working night shift this week, poor soul, and his nerves are shot).

So I’m wearing my new, funky cat’s eye frames in dark brown tortoiseshell, and I’m lifting and lowering my head trying to figure out which damn part of the lens I’m supposed to look through. I was warned to expect two weeks of headaches until I adjusted.

No kidding. My head feels like it's going to explode if my reinvigorated eyeballs take in one more iota of information. Like, for example, all those street names I can now read.

Comments

[Suzanne]

As a visually challenged person myself, I feel like it's only a matter of minutes before I'll be shopping for bifocals. Good luck adjusting to the focal duality! Bifocals probably can provide a good bifocal metaphor for parenting or life, but I'll have to think of one later---my eyes are burning from looking at the computer screen for too long.

[TM]

Anne, it's okay. Bifocals, and the right kind of glasses in general give women that sexy librarian look. All men, particularly husbands who work the night shift sometimes, enjoy that look. Try a tight skirt and crisp white shirt next time you're in the mood. ;)

TM

[Anne]

Suzanne: Um, let's see ... gazing into the fuzzy distance (ie, future) while stumbling over the fine print (day-to-day minutiae)? How's that for overwrought metaphors?

TM: Is this the same TM from Jewlicious? I'm so honored! I'll have to figure out a pregnant sexy librarian version, I guess. Thanks for stopping by my humble blog.

'Tis I, TM from Jewlicious. I realized you haven't been there to correct me or defend me against my detractors for a while, so I thought I'd visit.

It's hard feeling sexy with poop on the rug. Don't worry, though, there's always tomorrow.

[Anne]

TM: Fear not, I'll be back! As soon as I find my glasses ...