Monday, July 2, 2012
Nothing beats being able to see. That said, it also helps when you get the proper prescription on your glasses.
I’ve gone the last two years without the proper prescription on my glasses because after eight years of wearing bifocals I (not the optometrist) decided I didn’t need to wear them anymore.
This meant that any object inside of eight feet I had to dip my head and look over the top of my glasses to see, because everything else became an indiscernible smear at that point.
The question bears asking, why wait two years to fix it? The answer is because as a general rule it takes me about two years to figure out something for myself. (The list goes on: Plugged sink, the IRS, the whole Herbal Essence Organic shampoo commercial double entendre with the woman saying, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” as she shampoos her hair in the shower).
Two years is an average, sometimes it takes longer and sometimes less (and try as I might I can’t think of one of those at the moment).
Last night I picked up my new glasses and it was amazing how crisp and clear the world became again. No more chicken-necking to see things up close. All I have to do is tilt the head back and I can see the 12-point font creep left to right across my screen at only a 176 percent enlargement.
Okay, some things like fine print I’ve never been able to read, but that’s because of poor judgment not poor eyesight.
Before I leave I look over the clip-on sunglasses display and using the convenient chart below I try to find a pair of clip-ons to fit my new eyeglasses.
“You need some help?” The eye doctor dude comes over to offer some aid as I’m having a problem matching my glasses to an appropriate clip-on.
“These don’t fit,” was my epiphany that once again old Dan has himself a big old Mister Potato Head sized melon that requires extra-extra wide glasses because his head is the size of a basketball. I should have “Wilson” tattooed across my forehead.
The eye doctor dude frowns at the clip-ons chart and gives me the bad news, “Sir they don’t make clip-on sunglasses that big.”
“But,” he says with a helpful smile, “you can wear these,” and he shows me a pair of Lone Ranger looking goggles that looked an awful lot like the sunglasses my grandfather wore when he was 84 or 85.
You know the look. These glasses extend from your upper lip to your hairline. I could be Batman in these.
“They are very popular with the older generation,” he says checking out my shiny white Mature Man Walking Shoes. “You just put these on over your glasses and it blocks out not just some of the sunlight, but all of the sunlight.”
I actually consider these for about a second and a half. They would go well with my assortment of Monopoly colored shirts.
And the suspenders I’d purchase – yes, bright red – that would complete the look.
Then I could hike my pants up to below my armpits and go sit in the mall on Saturday afternoons, and when I’m not napping or staring off into space behind my massive pair of eye-goggles, I can ask people as they pass to “pull my finger.”
Sounds like a good time to me.
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