So today I went into the optometrist to see if the recent blurring at the edge of my vision was a sign that I needed glasses.
After testing everything thoroughly, he delivered the verdict–I’ve always had extraordinarily good vision, and now, age has rendered it merely perfectly 20/20. (It’s probably sad when your optometrist says “Cry me a river.”) So no glasses yet. In a few more years, maybe, he says if I notice it going to the point where it bothers me, come back in, but I’m unlikely to wear ’em if I get ’em now, so it’s all good.
And they did all the little tests, which involve the drops that dilate your pupils.
I’ve never had that done before.
It’s…something else, all right.
“Wow,” I said, hanging out in the waiting room, “my pupils haven’t been this dilated since college!”
One of the receptionists looked at me with a vague, puzzled look, and the other did a spit take with his coffee and said “Yeah, just don’t get pulled over…they never believe you…”
They performed the glaucoma test a few minutes later. “Hmm, glaucoma…” I said, “izzat the one where you get medical marijuana?”
“Sure!” The doctor grinned. “We sell it right out back. Medical…non-medical…whatever.”
I have found a stoner optometrist. Life is good.