Eye Eye Eye

I went to the eye doctor today because last week I received a postcard in the mail featuring Garfield (the cat, not the president) pointing at an eye exam board and reminding me it was time for my yearly visit.

This was my second trip to Citadel Vision. The first took place approximately one year ago. I remember thinking my optometrist was, for the lack of a better description, sorta creepy. He was probably in his mid forties, and maybe I’m the only one who feels this way, but I find that the combination of a difference in gender and an age gap of around twenty years tends to make conversations awkward always. He’s also one of those doctors who has the lady at the front desk put some notes about your family/pets/hobbies in your file so he can check it before he comes into the room and then act like you’re besties.

My regular doctor also does this. He comes in after I’ve been sitting on that crinkly paper for half an hour and asks me how my husky's doing, if I’m still singing, and whether I’ve been home to visit my family in Dallas recently, followed by a look that screams, “Ba-doom CHING! Eh? Eh? Eh? Ya see what I did there?”

“Oh my gosh you remembered all that stuff I watched you write down the first time I came in?!?!?! I can’t BELIEVE it!!!”

The difference is that my regular doctor is an old man, so it’s kind of cute in a looks-like-grandpa-found-the-key-to-the-liquor-cabinet sort of way. My optometrist, on the other hand, is a good ten years younger than my dad, which really just makes the idea of us being “buddies” a little repulsive. It’s not his fault. I know he wasn’t being a creep on purpose. Here’s what I imagine happened: His game plan from the get-go was to talk to me as if I were a high school student, but things started to fall apart after the following exchange took place:

Doc: Emily Gray, huh? That’s a good name. Sounds like a writer or an actress. Your parents really knew what they were doing.

Me: Uhh...I’m married, so...my parents...didn’t have much to do with it.

Doc: Oh...yes, of course, it says that right here...

Crickets: CHIRP...CHIRP...

Aaand that’s about how things went for the entire visit.

So this morning as I sat in the waiting room trying desperately to avoid eye contact with the other patients, I geared myself up for Round 2. But wait! My normal eye doctor was out sick today, so instead of Hairplugs McGee, I was greeted by none other than Doogie Howser, Boy Optometrist!

It was kind of like anticipating a bee sting and instead being presented with a strawberry milkshake.

Since we were probably only ten or fifteen years apart in age, he didn’t try to talk down to OR joke with me. He just did his optometrological duties in a professional manner and got the heck outta there, which is pretty much exactly what I’m looking for in a doctor.

YA HEAR THAT, DOCTORS? UNLESS YOU’RE A LADY, I WANT LESS YAPPIN’ AND MORE ZAPPIN’ (assuming you’re performing some kind of laser procedure. Otherwise I’m interested in neither yappin' nor zappin'.)