An account of the Isaiah James Family's trip to the optomitrist.

This is an account of the Isaiah James family's trip to the optometrist.  (I have to clarify which James family it is so one is not confused with the many that exist in the Wisconsin and Texas regions.)

It was a magical experience.  As the Shopko doors opened for us we wandered in and were at once lured by a gallon plastic jar of cheese puff balls, on sale for five dollars. We both averted our eyes and walked toward our destination:  the optical center. This is where the two of us have been getting our eyes examined for the past three and a half (almost four) darling years, since the olden days when we were newly weds.  It was a very romantic experience as we reminisced about all the memories we have had checking our blood pressure while we were waiting for our exam.

Those thoughts were soon interrupted by that annoying machine that puffs air into your eyeball. I sat there with dread, using all the strength I had to keep my eyes open. When the annoying puff part was finally over, we were soon escorted into the exam room. There, our little boy was given a bunch of toys which enabled him to be able to put things inside of things for the next 40 minutes.  He was in heaven.  For the next twenty minutes I sat in a chair while a strange man came unnaturally close to my face (I don't think any other male beside my dear husband has gotten that close to my face in years, and I am very glad he brushed his teeth).  The man asked me over and over the same question: "Number one, or Number 2, which one can you see better?"  I sat uncomfortably fishing for the right answer. Often, I had to resolve to make something up because I couldn't tell the difference. I felt convinced that because of my shortcoming (and lies) that I would be given the wrong prescription and not be able to see properly for the next two years.  

Then I was caught:  The strange man asked me "Do you sleep in your contacts?"  I thought about it for a minute,  and I came up with at least five times in the past year that I remembered to take them out when I was sleeping. That means I don't sleep in them, right? Therefore, my answer was a resounding yes.   Yes, doctor I never sleep in my contacts, I am a good girl.  But of course my husband set the record more accurately and said "No, she always sleeps in her contacts."   I could argue my case to the doctor so he would not think less of me, but I decided that I was already defeated.  Luckily, the only repercussion was that the doctor got a little chuckle out of it and sent me on my merry way with a different prescription that is safer for sleeping in.

I was relieved, though, that my exam was cut short because they did not dilate my eyes.  This was in order to save my unborn baby from eye dilating-drop poisoning or something like that. I thought to myself:  "This is nice, I should get pregnant more often."

Anyway, a few bright lights and a few looks at the ceiling 'till you burned a hole in your retina later and I was just sitting and waiting for Isaiah to be done with his exam. When he was done, We waited outside for ever and ever while the receptionist figured out how many contacts our insurance would give us. 

Meanwhile,  Jedidiah found his dream come true:  A revolving thing that had glasses displayed all over it. That was interesting, to say the least.  We tried to distract him from dismantling the display, but he distracted himself when he found another treasure:  An old man's walker that had a horn on it.  Luckily, he was a kind jolly old man.

When it was all said and done we walked out of the building satisfied with our experience.  We didn't make it out of the building right away, though because of a major magnetic force: I saw a bag of Ruffles Bar-B Q potato chips.  I walked towards it, but got reprimanded by my husband, who said that we did not, indeed, need potato chips.  I reluctantly agreed and began to walk away only to find him suddenly cruising down the snack Aisle looking for something different to catch his eye.  We ended this circular walk around all the cheap junk when I grabbed his arm and we went out the door.  Thus ended our experience at the eye exam place.

Angry Letters

Today I wrote an angry letter.  It was amazing.  It felt good.  I loved it.  I deserved to write it. It came out fantastic.  And....unlike other angry letters, I sent it. There are times when angry letters are far better off just being a way to vent and organize your thoughts, even if that's not what your intentions are.  There have been many letters which I am very glad never made it into the mail, or the internet through the fateful click of the "send" button, least I embarrass myself or needlessly drive a wedge into a perfectly fine friendship.   This is not one of those times.  Sometimes, people just gotta know what they did. And, its about time, oh its about time they knew.

(Don't worry, anyone reading this will not be the recipient of my angry letter.)

Jedidiah expressing his love of his new bedroom.....