Mrs. Magoo and her tri-focals, too!
“And we’re on our hands and knees with our nose pressed to the floor … BECAUSE?” husband-head said, raising one eyebrow as he walked in the door after work. “I think you’ve been hanging out with the dogs too much. …”I sat on my haunches and looked up.”The right lens popped out of my glasses again,” I explained. “Now I can’t see to find it.”Husband-head walked over and picked up the lens about a half mile from where I was looking.”Honey, I think it’s time for some new glasses,” he suggested. “Besides the lens, you have those things held together with electrical tape. It’s not very, shall we say, attractive.”But glasses have become an exceedingly important part of my life in my mid-40’s. Not only do I need contacts and regular glasses to correct my Mrs. Magoo vision, I am now also completely dependent on reading glasses.”Here, go over across the room and hold this cookbook up,” I told husband-head, when I couldn’t find the stupid reading glasses. “I can’t hold it out far enough to read it.”A little later, my mom called and I complained about my increasing vision problems.”I guess you need bi-focals now,” she insisted, and then turned away from the phone and laughed.Yes, what a hoot.Nevertheless, I broke down and made an eye appointment.When I arrived, the nice receptionist had me take out my contacts.For people with my prescription, that is similar to asking you to take off all your clothes. …”Follow me,” she said when I’d removed them, heading down the hall to the examining room. “Where are you?” I asked fearfully with my arms outstretched.Once safely seated in the chair, the nice doctor came in.The doctor’s face was a complete blur, but I could tell from the voice that it was a female.”Why don’t you look at the chart on the wall and read me the smallest line you can see,” she instructed.”What chart?” I asked, staring blankly in the direction she was pointing.She pushed the big eye examining goggles in front of me.When I got home from the appointment, I was not in a good mood.”So, Mrs. McGoo, how goes it with you?” husband-head said cheerily.”Let’s just say that not having the Big O is nothing compared to not seeing the Big E,” I retorted.”Oh c’mon, you’re getting some new glasses, why are you so bummed out?” husband-head asked.”Because I have to wear TRI-focals, that’s why!” I informed him. “TRI-focals?” husband-head laughed. “You mean you skipped bi-focals altogether and went straight to TRI-focals? I’ve never even heard of them.”With that, he broke into his own version of “Three Blind Mice.””My blind wife! My blind wife!See how she pouts! She went in to get herself BI-focals,They sent her away with some TRI-focals,If ever you saw such a sad yokel,It’s my BLIND WIFE!”He laughed and slapped his knee, thinking he was quite the card, but I didn’t find the whole thing very funny.Apparently tri-focals involve using the top of the lens for distance vision, the middle for mid-range and the bottom for reading.”I won’t know where to look,” I lamented. “I bet I’m going to feel like I’m on a bad acid trip.””I thought you felt like that every day,” husband-head consoled, patting my hand.I would’ve punched him in the arm, but just then the right lens of my glasses popped out. …Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Visit her Web site at http://www.heidirice.com.
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