Few things are more mysterious to me than the fact that the office sign outside my eye doctor is, without a doubt, the smallest sign imaginable. I am firmly persuaded that buildings for eye doctors should have neon signs and laser lights pointing the way.
Any amount of intelligence I feel I have, always gets shattered at the eye doctor. This happens without fail (yes, I am underscoring my use of the world 'always' here). I have but one skill and it is this: I can read faster than you. I know I can. (ask Chris. He lost). I can read fast and I can read well. I am a reader. Sit me in front of an eye chart and I can't tell the difference between an 'E' and an '8'. Which leads me to the eye-chart-reading-dialogue of today.
nurse (technician??): [glances at my chart] Well, I know you won't be able to, but can you see the big E?
karin: (no comment)
nurse/tech: Okay, I'm going to shine this bright light right in your eyes. Then you tell me when you can see the big E.
karin: Is this a joke?
And, my personal favorite.....
nurse/tech: All right. Now I'm going to dilate your eyes. This should only burn for a second. [editors note: nearly twelve hours later, my eyes are still burning]. [pause] Wow. I just missed both your eyes. I've never done that before. [at this point, my face is quite wet].
The end of the story is that this sixth in a series of doctors now believes I have conjunctival cataracts--in other words, I've been blessed with this condition since birth. My vision continues to decline with remarkable speed yet the cataracts remain unchanged. Pretty much, my glasses will continue to get thicker. Here's to hoping plastic frames never go out of style!