The Eyes, They Are A-Changin'

"Which is better, one or two?"
"Ummmm … two, I think."

God, how many times have I had to go through this dichotomy of choices? It seems as if I’ve been in that chair for close to four hours, even though the hands of the giant clock on the wall indicate that only about 15 minutes have passed.

The thing is, I don’t mind getting my eyes checked. It’s easily the absolute most painless health maintenance procedure any of us will ever have to endure. We get to sit in a very large padded chair, and a gigantic apparatus with lenses of miniscule increments is set in front of our eyes. All we have to do is look and answer “one” or “two” as knobs are rotated and dials twiddled.

"How about now? One or two?"
"They’re about the same."

But, for some reason, I find myself disliking the process more and more. I think it’s my new optometrist. I used to go see this young honey who was kind enough to wear short skirts. She had an enticing smile, a suggestive sense of humor, and was completely aware that a little innocent flirting made time move a little faster. This new guy is pushing toward morbid obesity, is balding, tends to wheeze, and has an odor vaguely reminiscent of turnips.

It’s like that all over, innit? You get used to something pleasant, something that has you looking forward to whatever event with which it’s (they’re) associated, only to find that things have changed and where there was once a woman you’d love to join for a private game of doctor, you now have a guy that looks like nothing more than about 300lbs of tapioca poured into some rumpled clothing.

"Have you noticed any new problems with your vision?"
"Only that it’s getting a bit difficult to focus when going from close to far."

They say change is positive, and in most instances I can see how that would be true. But then again, they just love being right, pompous bastards. But change isn’t always a good thing. I mean, who in their right mind would willingly swap a playful, seductive young woman for a guy who likely breaks a sweat using a remote to change channels?

The worst part is, this isn’t the first time I’ve been on the wrong end of this kind of switch. My old dentist was the type of woman from which shower-fantasies are made. I was going to the dentist for a cleaning so frequently, my insurance company probably thought I was some sort of dental-psychotic. She left last year, to be replaced by a jug-eared dork with an asymmetrical moustache. As if I can trust someone like that to put his hands in my mouth.

"Okay, all we need to do now is the ole glaucoma test, and we’ll pretty much be done."
"Great."

At least this visit would be over soon. I tried to recall in my mind’s eye what my old optometrist looked like, but could only get these vague, ghostly pictures. I tried closing my eyes to remove unnecessary stimuli, allowing my memory to concentrate, but was reminded that this was an eye exam and it would help if I kept mine open. Even in periphery I could see the puffy cheeks and greasy hair of this new guy, killing any chance of evoking the delectable legs that used to cross and uncross intentionally during the exam.

"Okay, we’re all finished. You can pick up your new prescription at the front desk."
"Thanks, everything okay?"
"Just a slight change to the left Rx."
"Great."
"Oh, but I do recommend you get bifocals – your close vision needs some help."
"Huh?"
"Don’t worry. It’s normal for people around your age."

Man, I hate change.

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