All right, I've decided to confess. I had the blonde moment of all blonde moments this past week. I wasn't going to tell, but my daughter ratted me out to my family and there can be no worst torture, so . . .
Let's just say, you're in for a treat.
Here I am, the only way I have of hiding my blondeness, big-ass masks.
Last week, the Odawg called from college to say she had just woken up, (3:00 in the afternoon, a normal non-school day morning for her) and her vision was cloudy, foggy-like. She also mentioned some blurriness.
I urged her, since it was a Sunday and the student health center was closed, to go the Walk-In Clinic.
This, of course, entailed straightening her hair, putting on makeup, finding the perfect Walk In Clinic outfit and posing in the mirror for an indefinite amount of time before she set out. (Her vision was not so blurry that it affected her driving, she said.)
Of course, since beauty is everything, by the time she got gussied up, the Clinic was closed. She decided to join her friends at the Pita Pit, instead.
Since eye-schmie . . . It's her friends. And Pitas.
I figured it couldn't be that bad, since she was more concerned about the pitas, so I told her if it wasn't better by morning to go dress up in a Health Clinic outfit and head on over there.
That night my Hubby phoned home from his boy's trip to Vegas. (The poor, poor dear, insurance men never sleep even when they're gambling.) When I told him about the Odawg, he FLIPPED out. I mean, cartwheel, roundoff and then into a back-handspring, flip out.
I was all, "Whoa, Dude! What are you doing? I'm the hypochondriac in this marriage! I'm the one who's supposed to flip out and think we're all going to die! Your job is to tell me to relax, remember? That's how we do things."
And then he reminded me about his business associate— the beautiful young girl who is blind in one eye. Blind because her cold sore virus found its way into her eye.
As I told you here, my poor girl is quite afflicted by cold sores and the week before, she'd had the worst one of her life. And of course, being home from college, she'd forgotten to fill her prescription and of course it was a long weekend with no doctor in sight. That cold sore was awful. I felt terrible for her.
And not only does she get cold sores, she's a champion nose, mouth and eye rubber. That girl could rub her face off in a face-rubbing competition. She's always rubbed her face, no matter how much her germaphobe mother screams at her to stop.
My heart froze. Our daughter was about to join the ranks of Helen Keller, Stevie Wonder and that Scott Dude from American Idol! But, sadly for her, she isn't a writer or a singer, so she'd just be blind. That's it, just a blind girl.
My Hubby insisted that I take her to an ophthalmologist first thing in the morning. I called Odawg back in full hypochondria mode telling her she needed to come home first thing in the morning . . . that is, if she could still see.
She obliged and since we have new vision insurance, I checked out our new doctor list.
I was happy to see on that list, an ophthalmologist I'd met at a cocktail party a few years back. She was so sweet and fun, exactly my kind of girl. We shared a penchant for Grey Goose vodka and cranberry and we were the only 2 folks kick-ass enough to get up and dance.
It was the Go-Go's. You have no choice but to dance to the Go-Go's.
I'd meant to switch eye doctors a long time ago, but my eye doctor's right around the corner from my house and I was always just too lazy loyal to switch.
I called their office and explained that I was almost certain my daughter was going blind and could they fit her in before she needed to add Braille to her semester schedule? She only had 2 days left of Drop and Add. If need be, I was going to sing a few bars of, "We Got The Beat" and tell the receptionist to pass that message on to the doc. I knew she'd see us then. But I didn't have to, the receptionist fit us right in.
Ophthalmologists don't mess around with blindness. In fact, I have a hunch they don't like blind people. Bad for the business and all.
So, Odawg came home even though she said she woke up with no blurriness at all. But, my hypochondria was on full alert. I was sure she'd be blind by the end of the day.
The eye doc, (I'm tired of writing ophthalmologist. It's a very difficult word to spell correctly.) remembered our dance and she was very sweet and very, very thorough, asking a lot of questions before the exam even began.
At one point, a thought occurred to me and I chimed in that the Odawg was using some new makeup remover wipes and since she's allergic to like everything, perhaps that was the cause as I nodded my head expertly.
The eye doc said, "Oh, and so you used those wipes on only one of your eyes?"
And I was all, "Ohhhhh right!"
But, that wasn't even the moment.
The eye doc announced after a thorough exam that the Odawg was not going blind just a little eye inflammation, but what she did have was terrible vision in one eye that had gone undetected all these years. She's far-sighted, so in close-up situations, her other eye was over compensating and that's why it was never detected. Plus the fact that it's Odawg. She probably thought all computers and books were supposed to be out of focus, kind of like her common sense.
But, as the eye doc continued with her exam, she noted on her chart that the poor girl has a terrible family history of eye trouble.
My grandma had glaucoma and cataracts and in one scary moment, a detached retina.
My hubby's grandma had Wet Macular Degeneration. Which could we find a more disgusting name for an eye condition? Gross!
I am one step away from a seeing eye dog with my weak vision, so the girl is pretty much screwed.
The eye doc ran several tests and then stood over her, telling her she was going to check her peripheral vision.
Now, this is something I do on a regular basis to myself, knowing full well that the glaucoma monster is waiting right outside the door to snatch away my eyesight. My little test consists of bringing my hands out to the side, with one finger raised and then I simultaneously bring my hands forward while I stare straight ahead. You're supposed to be able see your fingers when they're about, at your ears.
So far so good for me. Scratch one less worrisome illness off my list.
But, this eye doc was changing it up a little bit. She was throwing up all kinds of numbers as she held her hands up to the Odawg's side and on top of her head, asking her to shout out the numbers.
Well . . .
I just thought that was terrific! A new spin on an old test!
There I was, sitting in the corner chair, throwing up some 5's and 1's and 2's and muttering to myself, "That's a 5. That's a 1. And that, sir, is a 2."
I swear on my blonde head, it took me a good minute to realize what the freak I was doing. Just about the same time, the Odawg hissed from her exam chair, "Mom, what are you dooooing?"
She couldn't breathe later when she was retelling that one. "And then Mom was flashing numbers like gang signs and calling them out . . . TO HERSELF!"
I have no words. None as I offer my blonde head on a platter for your enjoyment.
The Odawg is getting a cute pair of eyeglasses to help her vision. I just wish there was a prescription for ditziness. I could use a high dosage.
Today's Definite Download: I try to boycott the Grammy's every year. That's a tough thing for me to do with my love of all things music. But, it's such a bogus show— a popularity, Top 40 awards show. What else can explain Taylor Swift getting album of the year. I love Taylor Swift, but album of the year from that sugary froth?
Anyway, I didn't watch last night, but I caught some youtube performances this morning and I don't mean to go Kanye here, but all I have to say is, Beyonce, Beyonce, Beyonce!
Oh, her performance was so stellar! Her, "If I Were A Boy" song which kicks butt in itself, but then, then when she did that totally unexpected take on Alanis Morissette's, "You Oughta Know." Oh my goodness, I was cheering her little rock-out self from my laptop view. I'd put it up for you, but you know the capitalist swine would jerk it right off.
"Ave Maria" from her "I Am Sasha Fierce" album. Not the beautiful soaring prayer of a song, but her own pop twist on the song. Still beautiful and a little appropriate for this post.
"She was lost in so many different ways. Out in the darkness with no guide . . . " I apologize, Internet.
Oh, and tomorrow I have a little surprise in store. So, stay tuned . . .