Peek-a-boo!

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

I had a mini-trauma last night. Hypochondriacs should not, I repeat, should NOT be allowed internet access. Recovering porn addicts can put up restrictions for web sites like “Girls Doing Girls Who Like Boys Doing Girls” and “No Pants Dance Party”. Just the same, people like me should put up access blocks for sites like “WebMD” and “People Who Think They’re Dying Unite”.

I’m going to go blind.

This may be my last blog entry before I slip into blackness and live my life not remembering what the color blue looks like or being 100% sure of what I’m putting in my mouth.

In my effort to be thrifty, I bought an off-brand saline solution for my contacts. In my effort to be lazy, I assumed that it was basically the same thing that my doc gave me at the optometrist’s office to clean and store my lenses.

Wrong.

While shoving my contacts into my eyes yesterday morning, I tested them to make sure I had them placed in the correct eyes (it’s unbelievable how many times I confuse eyes or have them flipped inside out. I still think they should be made with giant “L”s and “R”s stamped right into the lens). So I tried to read the fine print on the saline solution label. The good news: I could totally read the lettering, clear as day. The bad news: I could totally read the lettering, clear as day.

“DO NOT use saline solution to store or clean contact lenses as it may cause damage to the eye.”

*panic ensues*

So what exactly do you use saline solution for? To rinse lenses after they’ve been cleaned with some other solution and right before you store them with yet something else? I don’t know about you, but that sounds like extra work to me.

And I’m so stupid I had no idea I’d been doing it wrong the whole time. I’ve only been using this bottle of solution to store, rinse, and clean my lenses for oh, about 3 months. I must not have showed up for class the day they taught how to not take care of your eyes like a complete moron.

I think after work today I’m going to go buy a walking cane and an eye patch. That way I’ll look the part when I gather the kiddies around to heed my warning, “READ THE FINE PRINT!”

Of course this all went on while Clayton was gone at the gym. When he came back home he found me in bed trying to bargain with God over which of my other senses I’ll let Him take instead. Clay buried his head in his pillow and sighed as I relayed this tragic turn of events and tried to warm him up to the idea of now referring to me as “Lady Peepers”. Then he hit me over the head with logic I hadn’t considered.

“So, are you blind right now?”

“No.”

“Can you see okay?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been using this solution for months without noticeable problems?”

“Yes.”

“And just for the sake of clarity, are you blind right now?”

… “No.”

Then he kissed me on the cheek and vowed never to leave me at home alone again.

“What would you do if we weren’t married and you still lived alone?” he asked as he went to turn off the light.

Before I could come up with a reply, he answered for me:

“You’d be in a straight jacket.”


These are facts.

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