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Shopping For A New Me
One pair of eyeglasses at a time.
I haven’t been to the eye doctor in years, for obvious reasons. Eyesight, no matter how important, seemed a little far down the list of “Things I’m Willing to Catch COVID and Die For.”
Finally, though, the world has become sufficiently blurry that I’ve been forced out of my burrow like a groundhog with astigmatism.
Plus I ran out of contacts.
My normal eye doctor moved, which meant, egads! I’m not driving an extra five minutes to see him. Surely Pearle Vision Center is cheaper, and it’s closer, and it’s behind a Starbucks. And it’s a female optometrist and her optometrist daughter.
A lot of things weighed in its favor.
I know this seems nonsensical and somehow like reverse sexism, but I really do not like male medical providers. Like, dude, I don’t even know you. Maybe back up a little, I can see your tonsils.
Studies also show that female doctors produce better results for their patients. So, there.
My new eye doctor is like a robot, and I love her. Anyone who seems impervious to my charms becomes a challenge, a puzzle to be solved, A TEMPLE TO BE ROBBED OF ITS GOLDEN IDOL.
It became my mission to make her laugh.
