It finally caught up with me: years of bragging about my 20/15 vision. I scheduled an eye exam and hoped I needed glasses. I’ve always wanted glasses. When Steve and I first dated, he even bought me glasses without prescription lenses.
The doc wrote me a prescription and his assistant whisked me to look at glasses. One fell swoop. She brought me different pairs which I tried on in front of a mirror. I picked out some awesome Betsey Johnson frames. She rang me up: the best possible lenses, frames, anti-glare protection. She gave me the total: $550. I choked a little and asked her what forms of payment they accepted, stalling a bit. Trying to give my brain a second to digest this price. “Check, credit card, or cash,” she said.
“I don’t carry that much cash around,” I said, handing her my credit card. And as she scuffled toward the credit card machine, I could think only of how I would explain this to Steve.
It didn’t go well. Everything with a price tag became a glasses quip. “We were going to try to have a child soon, but Holly got glasses instead. We were going to take a vacation this summer, but Holly got glasses. We were going to go out to dinner, but Holly got glasses.” Within 16 hours, my glasses order was canceled.
It took me about a week to gather the gumption to try again (and it took that long for the refund to post to our account). I went to Target Optical and asked for the cheapest possible lenses – no fancy stuff, no anti-glare, just shitty glasses, please. I knocked a couple hundred off our previous price. These aren’t by Betsey Johnson, they’re Sydney Love. Whoever the hell that is. It doesn’t even sound like a real name: it sounds like an Amanda Bynes alias. Steve reluctantly agreed that this price would suffice.
I can actually read street signs and the time on the microwave. Our marriage is, once again, in tact. I don’t need expensive glasses, just ones that let me see.