I know I have good vision — I’m just lucky that way. But every now and then Iron Chef mistakes my questionable driving techniques for an eyesight issue, and then he makes me question myself.
So, I sauntered into the optometrist office where I was promptly asked if I wanted a picture of the back of my eyeball for 25 bucks. Not kidding. I said I didn’t, because I was thinking of getting senior pictures of Her Royal Highness, but I have to admit that now that I’m home without a picture of the back of my eyeball, I’m sort of melancholy.
After missing out on Funhouse Option #1, I got a chance to visit with my doc about things like senior pictures (since I live in Podunk, we both have kids graduating this year). And then we got to the part where I needed a paid professional — reading the eye chart.
I was expecting the Funhouse atmosphere to return, where maybe one of his helpful assistants would ask if I wanted a photo with me and the doc and a bouquet of brightly colored balloons. Instead, he magically magnified the fly speck line and taunted me with “Better or Worse?”
Well, now that the fly specks are big letters, I guess you could say that’s better, if you like that sort of thing, even though those letters don’t spell anything.
So we started talking about how I could have bifocals. Because I have always had good vision, I don’t necessarily understand the ratings, other than accepting that 20/20 seems like the benchmark for perfect eyesight. Maybe I had misunderstood the meaning of 20/15. I asked for clarification.
So we started talking about transition lenses or contacts if I was going to be so resistant to the idea of glasses. I wasn’t biting. I held my ground. I wanted to pay for my kid’s college more than he wanted to pay for his, in the end. I left with no souvenirs whatsoever, not even a portrait of the back of my eyeball.
I am now memorizing the fly speck line of the eye chart so we don’t have this awkwardness next time.