Pervy Optmetrist

My optometrist's name is Ira. He dresses like he works at Sterling Cooper. He's 70. He doesn't understand why anyone actually pays to eat lunch out when you can just bring a sandwich from home.

The first time I went to see him, while checking my eyes, he informed me that his 98-year old father has the same eyeglass prescription as me.

"But it took him a long time to get up there," he said, as though I had just won the blindness Olympics. Then he made me read another chart.

"No, sorry, your eyesight is actually worse than his," he nodded.

"In my day, a girl with eyesight like that - blind as a bat, you'd have trouble finding someone to marry you. But times have changed. We now value girls based on their intelligence. And we have contact lenses. But, pretty girl like you, I think you'll find someone to marry you." He looked skeptical for a minute. We both looked at each other in silence. I think he was waiting to see if I would react in some way. I think I was waiting to see if I would react in some way. Then I started laughing, kind of more in shock than anything. And then he started laughing too, except I think he was laughing out of discomfort because he didn't get what was funny.

"I'll have to special order your contacts," he informed me. "We don't usually keep prescriptions that high in the store," he shrugged.

Outside on the sidewalk, I stopped to think about that exchange. My optometrist called me blind as a bat! Amongst other things.