I can see the leaves on the trees!

It seems that just about everyone wears glasses these days. You know who you are, my fine four-eyed fellows. Maybe it's the countless hours of TV that our generation watched when we were younger or the fact that we constantly have to work in front of a computer screen, but I don't think that many people in this day and age make it into their twenties or thirties without their eyes needing a little help. I myself have been wearing glasses ever since I can remember, and not the dainty kind that people wear to look more sophisticated. Nuh-uh, I'm talking about Coke-bottle-thick glasses, the kind that haven't been in vogue since Ford was President. The kind normal-sighted people would use to start fires or see distant planets.

The other day I went to the opthalmologist for a check-up, and he regretfully informed me that my prescription would need to be strengthened yet again. I've ceased to be suprised that my vision continues to worsen; as blind and pale as I am, I just take it for granted that eventually I'll be forced to move underground and claim my rightful throne as King of the Mole People. What always does surprise me, though, is the difference in my ability to see things clearly when I put on my new contacts or glasses. I never realize how much worse my eyes have become until I use the new prescription and, lo and behold (literally), I can suddenly make out individual leaves on the trees! I can see signs down the street without squinting! Whoa, has there always been a stop light on that corner?

Yesterday afternoon Pegs picked up the glasses we had ordered last weekend, and I tried them on last night as soon as I got home. The difference was, quite simply, astounding. I could read the titles of books from across the room. I could see minute cracks in the plaster on the ceiling. I still couldn't see my toes, but that had more to do with my magnificent bosom than anything else. (My nipples, however, never looked so crisp and well-defined.) Every ten minutes or so I felt compelled to tell Pegs how much more clearly I could see everything. Finally, and not a little bit nervously, she asked "Well, now that you can see me so much better, you still want to be married to me, right?"

Silly Pegs. I don't know what she's talking about. My wife is a beautiful, sexy, incredible woman, and not a day goes by that I don't congratulate myself for being lucky enough to spend the rest of my life with her. Quite honestly, if she was blind enough to marry me, maybe she's the one who needs a new prescription. Come to think of it, that would go a long way to explain why she puts flour on her cereal and says good morning every day to the lamppost outside our apartment. At least, I hope it's her prescription.