Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Dilated ...

A few minutes after my whacky eye doctor did a PSA for reading glasses, he tilted my head back and dripped Day Ruiner straight into my shiny eyeballs. I had a schedule, man. A Monday free from a Daily Commitment. I'd gotten my hair cut and colored and there were still muddy streaks along my bangline. I popped in for a spontaneous eye exam at 1:58 p.m. and they told me they could get me in at 2 p.m. What luck, I thought. Appointment, sha-pointment.

The rest of my agenda was like:
1. Use gift card on new running pants from Dick's;
2. Use other gift card on summer shoes from DSW;
3. Get pedicure so I don't have to cut my own toenails;
4. Run 8 miles to make up for running 0 miles while I had a 10-day plague that fell, inconveniently, in the middle of half-marathon training.
5. Set alarm so I remember to pick up cheeky tot from Norwegian Wonder.

But then, suddenly, my pupils were dilated.

I squinted my way out of the doctor's office and stopped into Eddie Bauer. I was drawn to a table of colorful spandex, but no matter how much I squinted and swore, I couldn't read the price tags. I searched the blurred faces around me and wondered if any of them were guide dogs.

I also couldn't:
1. Read text messages
2. Send text messages in English
3. Google "how long will my pupils stay dilated."

The last one got ugly. I pulled up into a corner and said into my phone, "Siri? How long will my pupils stay dilated?"
"I think I've found something on the web about how long pupils stay dilated," Siri responded.
"Siri, read it to me," I asked.
"Hmm ... there's nothing to read," Siri said.

I wandered through DSW and Old Maybe. I wondered how in the heck I was going to get home and who what constitutes a foot talon. Finally I realized I could see things in the distance and I remembered that most of driving doesn't involve miniscule fonts. So I broke for the parking lot, cursing like a vampire as my enlarged pupils ate every single stray ray of sun. So, whatever, I got home. But nothing great really happened after that, so I was wrong about the luck. Further proof: I dropped the grocery bag that contained the eggs.

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