Mine Eyes Have Seen the Stupidity

I wrote a previous entry about the fact that my wife refuses to wear her glasses except when she is driving or watching TV. This forces to constantly search for them since she just sets them down when they become uncomfortable.

It finally happened. She lost them for good. We had gone out one day, and she did not realize they were missing until we got home.

We returned to the same place the following week. She actually wanted to patrol the parking lot and look for them. Obviously, we did not find them.

She has finally decided she needs new glasses. She asked me a question I did not expect.

"What do I do?"

"What do you mean?", I replied.

"How do I get new glasses?"

"Well, just call an eye doctor, make an appointment, get the new prescription, and then take it to LensCrafters or something."

"How do I do that?", she still asked.

My head began to hurt at this point. "Do what?", I said.

"Make an appointment." she said, matter-of-factly.

"Wha...How have you gotten glasses in the past? How did you see an eye doctor?"

"My mom made the appointment."

I remember when she got her last pair of glasses; it was about ten years ago. We were still dating, and she was well out of college. Yet she needed her mom to do it for her. What is even more bizarre is that she can make appointments for other things like doctor and dentist visits just fine.

Incidentally, she has needed a new prescription for a while, even before she lost her glasses. The only reason she has refused to go is because she doesn't like it when they perform the glaucoma test and puff air into her eyes.

Get a Leg Up

"Help!", she screamed. This could only mean that once again she had gotten herself into some inescapable predicament.

I tracked her voice to the top of our basement stairs where I was greeted not by my wife, but the bottom of a folding card table with all its legs extended.

We were preparing for a little Independence Day party and needed to bring some things up from the basement. Like the table.

She was leaning backwards trying not to fall while simultaneously keeping the table legs from scratching our newly painted basement walls. She found out too late that the table would not fit through the door to the first floor without folding the legs and was trying valiantly to wrestle it through.

As she held the table and I folded the legs down, I asked her why she just didn't fold the legs up first.

"That's too much work!", she barked.