the eye-doctor

I'm sitting here, squinting at the screen with my pupils the size of dimes. Or rather, I'm sporting the new, fashionably black eye color. I just got back from the optometrist, and I'd have to gleefully say it was the highlight of my week.

I miss tests--I really do. And sometimes I just get out of hand and surprisingly really talkative to the eye nurses that work there. After I signed my name on a bunch of forms that I didn't really read, the eye nurse took me back to a room with all this computer equipment piled on top of a giant lazy susan. I commented immediately, "Oh, I love this part." Oh, and I wasn't kidding; I love all the flashing lights and the numerous times she has to say "Look at the balloon" or "Look at the blinking light." It's like being a kid again, except my mom's played by a squat older woman named Wendy who reeked like hot dog water.

Once she rolled the lazy susan around and popped out the first machine, she told me to put my face up against the beige-colored contraption making loud whirring noises, and then handed me a clicking device. "Click that there thing when ya see a lil' fuzzy box. Butcha gotta keep starin' at that black box, now ok there." I was confused where the end of the sentence was, so I just stared. Oh I concentrated so hard on the spot that it hurt; and I remember a previous eye nurse telling me that "this machine is actually like a lie detector. If you aren't staring at the black box, we'll know." Which terrified me. And what's worse is they don't even tell you if you were lying or not.

I must've had the new lady because she was one of those people that just told you to "putchyer chin right there and don't blink." OKAY. I at least want to know what to expect when I see this blinking red light and a glass orb floating millimeters in front of my face. "Just hold still." I really wish they'd just tell you what really works--"Ok, just stop breathing for about 30 seconds and hold your eyes open with your fingers without blinking." Dictatorial ocular hygienists.

After the glaucoma test and the retina pictures, the actual doctor came in and--as if he was the bearer of sad news--warned me that he'd be dilating my eyes.

"Is it okay if we dilate them? What will you be doing later today?"
"Well, I was going to lay outside for a while."
"Alright, then I'll give you the short-term dilating solution."
"Oh good. How long will it last?"
"For several hours. You should be alright come evening."

Good, because that's when I go suntanning usually, you know, after dinner. Mm, the preciously desired moontan is definitely becoming.