I wear glasses. I wear contact lenses. I see better with the glasses. But I’m vain enough to enjoy the contact lenses. Astigmatism in both eyes prevents the more simple Lasik surgery and requires the literal “stick a needle in your eye, and do each eye separately, and endure pain for 4 days each” type of surgery — so I’m fairly content with the glasses and lenses. My other half Chris? Had the surgery years ago, now wears — or at least “owns” — reading glasses. And yes, there is a story here somewhere.
Heading out the door to run errands…
“Chris, (not wearing reading glasses) can you grab my eye drops from the kitchen?”
“Sure, these here in the drawer?”
Fast forward to Target, my eyes dry and scratchy like I’m in the Sahara. I pull out the eye drops, tilt my head back, and artfully apply the moisture. Ouch! Irritation! Burning sensation!
“Chris, are these my eye drops?”
“Yes, I grabbed them off the counter.”
“Can you read this label? Doesn’t feel like wetting solution…”
Chris grabs the bottle — holds it in front of him at arm’s length, which still isn’t enough for him to really see it clearly (gee, where are the reading glasses? At home?) and finally pronounces the following:
“Synotic Liquid — Fluocinolone Acetonide and Dimethyl Sulfoxide… Oh, this is Chloe’s ear medication!”
“I just applied a canine steroid to my eye?!?!? Are you kidding me?”
“I grabbed the bottle you told me to.”
“Did you read the label?”
“No, I didn’t have my glasses on, but it was right where you said it would be, so I grabbed it.”
The shift in responsibility and blame in a relationship is always amusing, right? If it goes well, we both take credit. If it goes poorly, it’s always someone else’s fault. In the meantime, my vision is cloudy, and we’re heading toward the pharmacy for the saline solution and a quick rinse. In the end it all worked out — no damage to anything other than our pride. Aging sucks. And I have to admit I laughed when Chris asked me if I wanted a treat — after all, Chloe gets one after she gets her medication…