Last week. Eye surgery center. First consultation.
Yay! I know. Finally!
Yup. I wear glasses. We know.
And I hate wearing them. Boo!
Always have.
First of all, I’m not a fan of the hassle that comes with the eyesight issue. I haven’t been 
able to see mountains since I was in 3rd grade. Mountains? What are those? Yeah, you know…
They’re big? You can’t miss them? But I did. Don’t do the math. It’s a long stinking time. And I’m super cranky about it.
Secondly, it’s one thing to be made fun of for wearing glasses by your peers and schoolmates. To which, I handled quite well; But I’m pretty sure it’s because when you wear glasses as a kid, your parents think its most hilarious to snag your glasses, and put silver duct tape in the middle of them… JUST to SEE if you will notice. I didn’t.
You’re as blind as a bat. I am.
And they would laugh… and laugh… and laugh. And sidenote: is anyone looking at the bridge of their nose looking for duct tape? Umm… No. Right. Yet, the whole family thought it was a hoot. Hence, my thick skin, I suppose. I should be grateful…
But, no, I harbor resentment.
Just kidding.
Back to the point… I’m a candiate! Whoop! Whoop!
The whole thing with this surgery is you have to qualify. So, not only do I have a perfect driving record -what.- my eyes can be perfect too! I’ve been a big chicken about this whole ordeal for years and I’ve finally had enough. Of poultry? No, silly. The eye sight.
Glasses falling behind my bed.
Contacts falling down the drain.
Tripping over confetti.
Walking into walls.
The doctor gives me these special prescription contact lenses to test out whether the type of surgery he suggests I have is a fit for my brain. Basically, if my brain cooperates well, this is the way to go. Good luck with that. I know right.
I say to the doctor, “Wow!! I actually see better already than I did with my current eye prescription!”
On my way out, with my new temporary sight awesomeness, in only Rita fashion…. I trip over a chair.
My sister is laughing her ass off on the way to the elevator and the sweet ladies behind reception ask, “Oh! Are you okay? Do you need sunglasses? Did you just have your eyes dilated?”
Nope.
I’m just a klutz.
And that can’t be fixed.
