Apr. 2nd, 2009

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So yesterday I went to the eye doctor, because I've been having . . . I wouldn't say *problems*, exactly, but there have been some concerns.

They took pictures of my eyeball -- which, let me tell you, beat the *fuck* out of getting dilation drops and was well worth the forty bucks -- and I got my eye exam and all that fun stuff.

And then the doctor said, you know, that given my family history of macular degeneration ( I'm starting to sweat, hearing that ) and my personal history of DVT ( and there goes the blood pressure, I can feel it soaring ), she's sorry to have to tell me . . . .


-- WAIT FOR IT --



. . . that it's time for FUCKING BIFOCALS.

I howled, "SON OF A BITCH!" loud enough to be heard out in the waiting room. The doctor was a bit taken aback and I yelled, "You were FREAKING ME OUT!!"

"Um," she said, and kind of blinked at me. "April Fool's?"

I almost threw something at her. Luckily for us both, there was nothing within reach.

I don't think she meant for things to sound the way they did . . . she had no way of knowing that pretty much my biggest fear is blindness, and her choice of phrasing just tapped into every worst-case scenario I could imagine.

Still. FREAKED ME *THE FUCK* OUT.

So after I got over the terror and panic, then I had time and energy to sulk about needing bifocals. Goddammit.

However, the frames I picked out were very very cute, and insurance will cover a lot of the cost, so there's a plus. I wanted the frames in a different color, so they're being ordered for me. When they come in, I'll swing by and try them on, and then they'll put in the lenses.

And then I can wear them and feel old.

*grumps off*

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