Since my eyesight has been the subject of questions recently (Me vs Snakes and Being Blind), I thought I’d share the story of how my ivory tower of perfect vision was unceremoniously toppled by my loving husband.
Growing up I’d always had 20/20 vision. From a genetic standpoint this was lucky. My mom has more or less always required major vision correction, though my dad managed to make it much further in life before being required to hold things at arms length in order to read them. I was doing pretty well.
I took pride in my ability to see things clearly. I could run, jump, and play without ever having to fuck with glasses or contacts. Friends would struggle with contact solutions, and fight the losing battle to keep sand and dirt out of their contacts while camping. I would just drink and go to bed. It was a time of happiness and blissful naiveté.
And then just like that, it was over.
I was in my mid-twenties, taking classes up at Simon Fraser University. As is the life of most students, much of my time was spent sleeping through lectures in giant halls, and desperately trying to catch up on reading while remembering sweet fuck all of what I had just read.
The last thing I needed was some dumb shit professor who couldn’t focus the damn overhead.
Every day that I sat in his class I silently berated him. I questioned how this man has received a PhD in anything, given the fact that he was bordering on incompetent. How could someone so smart, be so incomprehensibly unable to bring a simple overhead into focus? The stupidity was astounding.
For weeks I would rant to my husband about how this idiotic man was singlehandedly ruining my GPA by making it impossible to follow along with his power point presentation. He asked me if anyone else had mentioned this. I didn’t think so, but then I certainly didn’t talk to everyone. Or, frankly, anyone.
He looked down the hall and asked me to read the sign at the end of it.
Me: I can’t, it’s too far away. Normal people can’t see things that far away. What’s wrong with you?
Him: I can read that.
Him: *reads sign*
Me: Fuck off, you’re guessing
Him: You need glasses
I lived in denial for a time, constantly playing the “can you read that” game with unsuspecting participants. Eventually I gave up and went to the optometrist, who confirmed once and for all that my beautiful 20/20 vision was no longer.
Oddly, she said, I was having trouble with distance, but up close was fine. She said that wasn’t normally something that developed later in life and suggested I should read less to let my eyes rest. Ha, that wasn’t going to happen.
|My kids love to try on my glasses|
And so now I have glasses (and thanks to online shopping, many pairs). I hardly wear them, and my prescription is laughably small compared to everyone I know, but the sting of losing perfection is still there.
Just below the surface.
At least I think it’s just below the surface….it’s a bit blurry out there.
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