I had met my match in a white-robed, highly efficient, sleek, and snobby optician. She insisted that to be able to see out of them, all I had to do was get used to my new glasses.
I left the store and rushed to the metro, then fell down the last three steps, having misjudged the depth.
“I am just in a hurry,” I thought.
Running back to the office, I tripped up the stairs.
“Klutz!” Longed to be sleek, I told myself that I had to be patient and make my eyes SEE.
This went on for the work-week and the weekend. By the following Monday, I looked like I had been in a lacrosse goal cage without pads.
“Did you have a relaxing weekend?” my boss asked suspiciously. “You look, um, you look tired.”
“I am trying to get used to these new glasses….”
“Ah! Very good, that can take some time.” Was he conspiring with the optician? He sent me to do some research at one of the government buildings across the city.
It was a sunny day, so normally I would have loved getting out of the office and into old papers. But not that day: I fell getting on the bus, getting off the bus, and on a loose tile of pavement. Still, my spirits do not dampen easily. As I picked my wobbly self off the sidewalk, I noticed that somewhere, someone had watered geraniums, and I stopped to smell the clean sharpness.
I knew I had to get a move on out of the sun, so I hurried into the massive grey building. My eyes, already trying to adjust to the glasses, were now also trying to adjust to the comparative darkness of the interior of the building. I hurried up the shallow gray steps and past the rows of gray columns, then walked smack into a large gray metal closet that was being moved on a dolly.
I hit the metal cabinet with such force that it bounced.
“I am adjusting to these new glasses…” I tried to explain.
“Doll, if you couldn’t see this closet, you might want to think about getting a new pair of new glasses.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
I left the store and rushed to the metro, then fell down the last three steps, having misjudged the depth.
“I am just in a hurry,” I thought.
Running back to the office, I tripped up the stairs.
“Klutz!” Longed to be sleek, I told myself that I had to be patient and make my eyes SEE.
This went on for the work-week and the weekend. By the following Monday, I looked like I had been in a lacrosse goal cage without pads.
“Did you have a relaxing weekend?” my boss asked suspiciously. “You look, um, you look tired.”
“I am trying to get used to these new glasses….”
“Ah! Very good, that can take some time.” Was he conspiring with the optician? He sent me to do some research at one of the government buildings across the city.
It was a sunny day, so normally I would have loved getting out of the office and into old papers. But not that day: I fell getting on the bus, getting off the bus, and on a loose tile of pavement. Still, my spirits do not dampen easily. As I picked my wobbly self off the sidewalk, I noticed that somewhere, someone had watered geraniums, and I stopped to smell the clean sharpness.
I knew I had to get a move on out of the sun, so I hurried into the massive grey building. My eyes, already trying to adjust to the glasses, were now also trying to adjust to the comparative darkness of the interior of the building. I hurried up the shallow gray steps and past the rows of gray columns, then walked smack into a large gray metal closet that was being moved on a dolly.
I hit the metal cabinet with such force that it bounced.
“I am adjusting to these new glasses…” I tried to explain.
“Doll, if you couldn’t see this closet, you might want to think about getting a new pair of new glasses.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
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