I can't believe none of you noticed! Okay, fine. After a decade of being bespectacled, I bit the bullet (bet you can't say that three times fast) and got contacts.
There was no one single reason. I needed an eye test. I'm tired of glasses. And I can afford it now. So after putting it off for six months (that's nothing, by my standards), off I went to the optometrist. I was suprisingly unafraid, apart of course from my biggest fear - how the f**k much is this gonna cost me?
Well, there's nothing to make one feel like an idiot like being unable to accomplish a task that children can manage - that Homer Simpson can manage! It took my poor, and exceedingly patient, optometrist twenty minutes to get the lenses in himself the first time. Then it took me an hour to do it myself under his instruction.
Now, I'm not a very patient person. I get frustrated very quickly, usually throwing away whatever it is I'm trying to do, accompanied by loud profanities (and that's just me threading a needle). And if I'd been my optometrist I would have punched me. But he didn't. The punching was to come later, self-administered.
It was Thursday night I was sent home with the lenses, to practice. An hour of practicing later, and I was in tears of frustration and had gotten nowhere (much like being a lefist these days). After phoning everyone I've ever met to complain, and get tips, I gave up and wondered if I'd just wasted all that money for nothing.
By Friday after work though my determination not to lose a fair chunk of cash was renewed. This unfortunately did not translate into results. It was another 20 minutes of struggling, sweaty palms, frustration, and trying to remain calm knowing that to do otherwise would only make it worse (now I know how impotence must feel). I was on the verge of giving the whole thing up for good, when I looked skyward and said, "I don't know if you're up there...but a little help, please?"
Now, I don't know what it means. But on the next try, both eyes...I got the lenses in.
World Cup winning goals have been celebrated with less fanfare. Xander fled for cover as I ran through the house, whooping and cheering and generally making an idiot out of myself. I took a brief moment to give thanks for whom or whatever had just helped me, then rejoiced in the triumph of knowing I had gotten the hang of it; I was a contact lens wearer now.
And I really do have the hang of it. I was told not to overdo it in the early days, so I just wore them for a couple of hours on Saturday, then for six hours on Sunday. Sunday though involved a trip to the beach (well, several beaches actually) and the wind and sand made my eyes a bit sore, so I thought yesterday I'd give it a break.
This morning was the big one though: wearing the lenses to work. I had a bit of a hiccup, when I accidentally put the first lens on inside out. Putting a lens in inside out feels exactly the way you're afraid contact lenses are going to feel. My eye poured tears as I frantically removed it. I considered giving up for today, but took five and tried again, this time with success. I arrived at the office feeling rather chuffed with myself...and no one even noticed.
Honestly, these people. I've worked here for four years, wearing glasses the whole time - and no one noticed their absence. Do I have to wear a pineapple on my head to get attention around here?
Well, that's the entire saga of how I got my contacts. Up next - Nico returns to wearing make up (with glasses on, there never seemed much point). No, next I'll get back to writing about world affairs, rather than my own - just as soon as I get used to this (who knew the world is so bright?)