So, after the trauma of sitting in the dentist's chair, I also went for an eye exam this week. The wife obviously thinks whatever could be wrong with me, is. I've not had my eyes checked since I was about twelve, and they were fine then. What could have possibly happened in the last eighteen years?
I'm sitting in this room, and the cute little optometrist (I could see her well enough...) had me sit down while she got the charts ready. One eye, then the other. Oops, the left eye is definitely not quite so pin-sharp. Is that an 'N' or an 'H'? Wait a minute. Deep breath. It's about a millimetre across for Christ sake! Even Superman couldn't read that! Fake it. It's fifty fifty. 'H'. Yeah, definitely 'H'.
Then she comes right up to me - close enough so that I can taste her perfume - and says she wants to check the back of my eyes with this torch. Up, right, left, up to the right, up to the left. I tell you, it isn't often a woman tells me to look down her blouse... Too bad the lights were low - I couldn't see a damn thing.
Now look into the light, she says. Now away. Now back into the light. Lady, you're supposed to be protecting my eyes. Has she spoken to my dentist? I think I'm having some kind of post-ironic week.
Anyway, I don't need the Coke bottles after all, so I'm good for another eighteen years.