see no evil

My eyeglasses, having perhaps grown tired of life, chose Monday morning to spontaneously disassemble themselves in a manner that would preclude any sort of reassembling, and this was a bitch. I liked those glasses. I generally hate my glasses, but those weren’t too bad as far as eyeglasses go.

Anyway, I could see well enough without them to get by on, but the next two days were still spent stumbling about with a sort of Eastwood squint before I was able to drop in on the optometrist who then insisted on an eye exam before making a new pair available.

Answer me this: Why do they have you read a line on the chart with one eye and then read the same damn line with the other eye? I know what the effing line is. I’m not going to tell you “O, F, L, C, T, C” and then feign an “O…uh…F, maybe…L, I’m guessing…and…uh…handicap sign…hangman…handicap sign, maybe.” I’m going to damn well say “O, F, L, C, T, effingC” because I just read it with my good eye and I know what the mothergrubbing line is, bastard.

Mothergrubbing bastard doctor with all your bastarding big time book learnin'.

...aaaand so forth.

Anyway, one can see how this could taint the results of an eye exam.

I thought this was the reason behind my new glasses making everything appear some eight inches to the right of where it actually was. I’m told that new prescriptions can give everything a shifty appearance, and the optometrist did in fact give me a weaker prescription, as he found my old ones to power me be above 20/20 and thus enable me to see the very darkness in men’s souls, especially taxidermy school drop outs who settled for optometry, but the depth perception challenges brought on by this newfound shiftiness seemed at first out of the ordinary and a cause for alarm.

Still, I trudged on, thinking all the while that my superpower glasses had perhaps just given me have a decade of seeing all objects eight inches to the left, and now a readjustment to reality was in order.

Indeed. By the end of today they didn’t seem too bad, though there is no guarantee that I didn’t leave a line of unsuspectingly flattened pedestrians in the wake of the Caminomobile on the way home from work.

There never is.