Now I feel bad for saying I don’t care for the optometrist. He was perfectly friendly and charming. I must have gotten him on a bad day the last few times I went. That, or he was impressed with my lovely, blown-straight hair. Or maybe he was frightened by the zit on my cheek. One of those, I’m sure.
Wouldn’t you think that past a certain age your eyes don’t get better, only worse? Especially when they’ve been pretty much the same for about three years?
It appears that one of my eyes has gotten better, so now my eyes are both the same, uh, level of blindness. Which rocks, because now I can pop a contact in either eye, instead of worrying about which eye it belongs in.
Dr. C was impressed to find that I don’t wear my contacts to sleep in, that I take them out every night. He said that most people with my level of vision (ie, “blind as a bat”) tend to sleep in them. Considering how awful I look in my glasses, I probably SHOULD sleep in my contacts, but I’m just not comfortable doing that. I used to as a youngun, but now that I’m older and wiser (ha!), the idea of a dry contact getting stuck to my eye freaks me out.
Speaking of glasses, I’ve needed a new pair for years. In fact, the pair I currently have are the pair I bought the first Christmas after I moved down here. They make me look horrible (although I do that just fine even without the glasses), and they’re not strong enough. I spent at least half an hour looking at each and every pair of frames, and finally decided on a pair of the cheapest ones I could find. I figure, the only time I wear them is at night for about ten minutes before the lights go out, so why spend a lot of money on them?
Naturally they were out of stock on the pair I wanted, so it’ll be 3 – 5 days before I get my new glasses.
While I was there, I stocked up on my contacts. How fucking cool is it that 12 pair of contacts (I toss out the old ones once a month) is $60? I honestly remember when contacts were that much PER CONTACT.
Damn I’m old.
After leaving there, I went to the pet store, where I checked the kitties (they were all sleeping) and bought some bird seed, then ran to Target. I swear to god, I could wander around Target and it’s lovely, clean, WIDE aisles for six hours. Such a difference from Wal-Mart, with it’s crappy, crowded aisles. At Target I bought a new iron (the old one is probably ten years old, if not older) and a few things to organize the spud’s closet. There’s currently a huge plastic storage box in there, and she apparently feels that anything she doesn’t want to put away where it BELONGS should go in the box with her stuffed animals and toys: I found two spoons at the bottom of the box. SPOONS.
I know I did the same lazy-ass, stupid-ass shit when I was a kid, and in retrospect my mother didn’t beat me nearly enough.
I honestly don’t know why I’m bothering to buy anything to organize her closet, because within ten seconds of arriving back home in August, the child will half of everything she owns shoved under the bed, and the other half scattered across the floor of her room.
Last summer her father bought her a pair of cowboy boots. Want to take a wild guess how many times she’s worn them? She has at least ten gimme caps, and I’m 99% sure I’ve never actually seen her in any of them.
There are clothes hanging in her closet with tags still on them, and I would venture a guess that she will come home with a whole new slew of clothes that she won’t wear. Because when you say to her “Would you wear this?”, she immediately says “Yes!”, which is just a lie.
And also which is why I never take her shopping unless we’re looking for something specific.
Okay, it’s getting late. Let’s call this an entry, shall we?
If you look very closely, you will see dried catnip around Spanky’s lower lip.
“DAMN woman, can’t I do anything without you flashing that thing at me? Meh! MEH, I say!”]]>