Windows to the Soul, or Something

After four years maybe five? I don't know. Not much differentiates 2008 from 2009 on through 2012 a case of double pink eye (I work with kids, back off) and a bunch of squinting and fuzziness and "I can't see that" I bucked it up and went to the eye doc today to get my lil pair of greenies checked out.

She found me funny for some reason. Probably because I revealed a little too early in the appointment that I buy my contacts from Canada, where, somehow, magically, the very same brands of lenses are half the price. Things that make you go "huh," huh?  

Then, this. Her: "Your prescription looks about the same..." Me: "Well, shit. What am I doing here?!" She laughed. Then said something about blah blah blah the health of my eyes. I said something about blah blah blah no vision insurance.

I made her promise I wouldn't look like druggie if she dilated my pupils. "I have to go back to work after this!" She didn't keep that promise. She did, however, an A+ job, even backing off trying to sell me a new pair of glasses after I told her I drunk shop for Warby Parker pairs.


There's a moral in here somewhere. It might be to get my eyes checked out more often, it might be to not, since my prescription is the same anyway, or maybe it's to be more conscious of making those everyday "I'm a human, you're a human" connections with the stream of people who come in and out of my silly Monday to Tuesday to Wednesday and so on life. I choose option three.