I Can See Clearly Now

I hate going to the eye doctor. Is this better or is this better? Click. Click. Click. Now, is this better(click) or is this better(click, click)?I really concentrate, I try to discern the difference but I never really know and I feel like I'm cheating or at the very least guessing.

I went for my exam last week and in the middle of all this 'is this better or this better' business, I started to imagine if this same test was applied to other fields. For instance a sex worker leans to the right a little, is this better(shifts) or is this better. A model offers one pout and then another, is this better or is this better, a proctologist, a lawyer reading closing arguments. Isn't there a surer way after all these years than is this better or is this better? Something just a smidge more precise?

The whole reason I was there voluntarily getting air shot out at some unimaginable velocity straight at my peepers was a jog I took a few weeks ago. The kids were in bed and I decided to go for a run. I slipped on some yoga pants, a heavy duty sports bra to keep the girls from jiggling, a t-shirt and headed out.

In my neighborhood there are cats everywhere. It's probably because it's a very intellectual area, almost a mecca of smartosity and knowitallness and everyone knows smart people love cats. You could almost call it a cat colony with a couple of dogs thrown in for entertainment.

Sometimes in my bored ocd mind, I'll count cats on my run and when I hit 20(usually about a half hour), I consider myself done. This includes cats in the window, on porches, under parked cars. The more tired I get, the more intently I look for them so I can call it a night.

So I was jogging and I'd made it to twenty cats and was walking toward home when I saw a big nondescript cat ambling toward me in the gutter. "Here kitty", I said. I slowed down and made a few of my very realistic cat noises that say, "hey you, I'm friendly".

I'm a sucker for animals in general and love to give a good head scratch to any cat who'll let me. It probably appeals to my need to be liked. So I'm approaching the cat slowly and when I'm only a few feet away, I stop, crouch down and offer my hand. "Come here kitteh, you can haz cheezeburger?", I offer, my voice lilting a little. The cat comes closer, still hesitating a bit.

My hand is out and I just patiently wait playing a little hard to get and finally the cat starts walking slowly toward my outstretched hand. My eyes slowly adjust as the cat inches toward me, the cat gets closer almost reaching my fingers, my vision is pretty bad, I'm squinting. Nice kitt--wait a minute, that's not a cat, that's a fucking raccoon.

"Ehh," I shout startled and jump up and thankfully, this ginormous raccoon gets startled too and runs away in the other direction before he can get close enough chew my face off. I used to like raccoons, even fed them hotdogs through the screen at my cousin's house when I was little but I almost got mauled and eaten by a pack of them so I am terrified.

Long story short, I decide it's time I got my eyes checked, it's been way too long, that I've been wearing the same prescription for years, just reordering pack after pack of contacts. And if getting your face chewed off by a crazed raccoon isn't enough incentive, I had even considered getting Botox for my forehead wrinkle but realize the wrinkle is from continuous squinting and not age. Even when waxing, I knew my face was getting a little too close to clients. Not that I cared, but you know, you wouldn't want your gyno's head right above your cha squinting to make sure she'd got a good view.

So, here I sit, in this cracked, orange plethor chair with the permanent butt dents with the tech doing the whole, "is this better or is this better." It's all making me a bit hostile, I have visions of making some notable hand gesture, "Is this better, or is this better," I'd ask cleverly, ok, not so clever, but it seemed so at the time.

Finally after the drops, the compressed air, the poking, the prodding and the clearly technical and precise prescription figuring, I walk out of the office with my little white piece of paper only to shriek and pull back from the blinding, atomic-like bright light the moment I leave the doors. What the, was there a goddamn A-bomb, did we get a second sun? Where is all of this light coming from? Ah, that's right, the dilation. I escape back into the office like Nosferatu shielding himself from sunlight so that I can get a spiffy pair of roll up glasses to wear home. Not too sporty but at least I'll avoid extra eye damage that will have me in the orange, leather chair with contraptions on like Johnny Depp wore in Sleepy Hollow too soon.

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12 comments:

Bluestreak said... September 1, 2008 at 5:56 AM  

I like your running strategy. So much better than looking at the watch every five seconds to see how much longer you have to go.

Anonymous said... September 1, 2008 at 11:27 AM  

Okay... I am finally posting a comment... I feel a little famous since I AM the cousin who you fed hotdogs to racoons through our screen door with! Love your blog!

Baroness von Bloggenschtern said... September 1, 2008 at 1:48 PM  

Too funny (not the blinding light part).

My night vision has become so bad (I'm only 46, dammit!!) that I may need prescription night googles not unlike the Mr. Depp model, sometime in the near-distant future.

Beware the cats who don't purr...

ghost of keywork said... September 1, 2008 at 3:08 PM  

That's what you get for showing up without hotdogs. You're lucky I wasn't there.

Formerly Fun said... September 1, 2008 at 4:08 PM  

bluestreak-
I think counting stuff like that might border on a disorder but it definately works for me, that and running past the firehouse(when I was single hubs, I don't do that NOW).

anonymous-
Awww, you're here. Wait 'til I tell them all about the time "we wore those retards:)" I think I have talked about the times we'd call each other on the phone and decide to stay home sick. I mis you 'cuz.

Ghost of keywork-
From what DPH and the girls over at AAYSR say, you bring the hot dogs:)

ghost of keywork said... September 1, 2008 at 4:25 PM  

Can't argue with fact.

A Free Man said... September 1, 2008 at 9:53 PM  

I've never really thought of raccoons as being pack animals, but what the hell do I know, I'm a botanist.

ghost of keywork said... September 2, 2008 at 7:14 AM  

Fm, where there's one, there's usually another. Tandems.

Formerly Fun said... September 2, 2008 at 3:46 PM  

I think it was a family of them that almost did me in. I accidentally interrupted them during a garbagy feast at a park and they charged me making the scariest growly noises I've ever heard. I thought they were going to attach but they ran right past me and up a tree that was behind me. I stood there paralyzed for a moment thinking they were all going to rain down on me from the tree like giant furry mean paratroopers.

Jay said... September 3, 2008 at 1:42 PM  

'Giant furry paratroopers!' ROFL!!! This is the funniest thing I've read all day!

Alright now, people - settle down. Hand over Mr Depp and no-one gets hurt. It's OK, I'll take him with the ugly goggles, I don't care. ;)

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