Was Blind, But Now I See

Amazing Grace! After what I've just now realized have been 5-6 years of sub-par vision - of squinting, pretending to enjoy long distance views, and scaring anyone driving with me at night - I finally went to the eye doctor.

Before I get into the amazing eye-wear and make-up fashion tips my 65 year-old Boca Raton-visitin' new doctor regaled me with (none of which I should heed given the point of this blog), let me cut to an important chase.

At age 29, I am wearing contact lenses for the first time. I know, you're thinking - wow. This is a rite of passage usually reserved for teenage ugly ducklings about to transform into beautiful swans, like in SHE'S ALL THAT - that movie where Usher plays a deejay.

But the strange thing about it is I don't wear my glasses that often. Oh you know, I'll throw 'em on when I'm driving, at the movies, watching TV, that sort of thing. But who wants to be at a bar in L.A. and actually see the faces of the people around you? Shley says I've been living in denial about the fact that my vision has slowly deteriorated since age 22 to the point where I need actual vision care. I hate her cause she's correct.

So all day I've been running up to my coworkers (all of whom - along with cars, buildings and traffic lights - seem to be coming at me in 3-D now) and exclaiming, "I got contact lenses!" Their reactions have been underwhelming-transitioning-into-patronizing to say the least. But you know what? Good for me for taking control of my vision health 5 years after it probably would have been a good time to do so.

My doctor, whom we'll call Doctor Wacky, also called me out. Let me preface this story with - I kind of adore my eye doctor and I don't plan on leaving him for a long time. (And if my past record is any indicator, I don't plan on going back to see him for another 6 years or so). But the man definitely fake raised a hand to slap me when I couldn't will my eye to stay open so he could fit me for a contact lens. He also refused to disclose to me my prescription.

"Why do you want to know that? Because people ask? Tell them to mind their own business."

He's a weirdo, frankly. He told me the fact that I've been living without proper vision for so many years, "tells him a lot about what kind of person I am." No, Doctor Wacky doesn't know what I do for a living, if I've ever fallen in love, what community service I'm committed to, or how I treat my mother, but he DOES know what kind of person I am.

He also is just sick and tired of pretty gals like me wearing glasses.

"You're an attractive woman, why wear glasses?" he asks me.

"I kind of like how I look in gla-" I try to answer.

"Tut-tut! Not another word. You're getting contacts AND you're getting glasses, and you're going to spend about $475 today," he tells me, sucking all the heart-racing suspense out of the visit.

So finally, in a scene from SAW or A CLOCKWORK ORANGE, he forces the contacts into my eyes, ("Hey, if Asians and ten year-olds can wear contacts..." he encourages me) and lets me pick out glasses - but with a fashion warning. He tells me not to pick the paler tortoiseshell frames I've been wearing all this time because they match my hair and blend in. I need to stand out!

Instead, he has one of his coworkers show me a wide array of green and red glasses. Because what 29 year-old girl doesn't want to look like Sally Jesse??? Finally the girl shows me good stuff - one cat-eyed pair I almost bought JUST to really bring it home during my almost annual karaoke performance of Lisa Loeb's "Stay" - and I get some good ones and vow to come back for two days of training which I totally needed because I'm not an Asian or a ten year-old.

I touched my eyeball, and I liked it.