Dog for Sale

This morning started off like any other...got up around 7, got Charlotte up and gave her a bottle, got her dressed. No big deal, same as any other day. Then, as I'm walking her back to the bedroom to say goodbye to Daddy before she went to Miss Terri's for the day, I felt something under my foot. It's not unheard of to step in wierd things around this house; with an 8-month-old Golden Retriever, the surprises are endless. This, however, didn't feel like a rock or a squeaky toy or a branch or clump of moss. In fact, it was kind of...wiry? Crunchy? What could it be...?

My glasses. Or, more accurately, half of my glasses. My not altogether inexpensive titanium-no-rim-featherweight-Transition-lens glasses. Nevermind that I'd had them for 5 years, which made me about 3 years overdue for new ones. Nevermind that if I'd taken proper care of my contacts, I wouldn't need my glasses. And nevermind that I hadn't exactly left them in case where they might have been safe (in my defense, they were on the bathroom counter). Just...of all the...my glasses!!!

Since I'd been stringing my last pair of contacts along for the last 2 months or so, and my specs were no longer an option, Brian and I packed up and headed out to find me an eye doctor. I've had vision insurance since I started working for the School Board, but I'd never used it...and the most convenient in-network provider? Wal-Mart. Yeeeeeefreakinghaw.

I felt marginally better about going to Sam's (at least you have to be a "member" there, right?), but the doctor wasn't in until tomorrow. So...Wal-Mart it was. Oh boy. The lady who filled out my paperwork was astounded that I knew my prescription; she's all, "I've never had anyone know that before!" Really? Never? I only look at it every time I put in a new pair of contacts...

They actually got me in pretty quickly, which didn't give me too long to wonder if that was due to their businesslike efficiency or their lack of patronage. It also didn't give me too long to wonder how exactly an eye doctor ends up practicing at Wal-Mart.

I'm thinking it was his winning personality. He immediately chastised me for sleeping in my contacts (helll-lo, I thought it was ok...only like every other eye doctor has told me it was), and barely spoke 2 words the whole time I was there. Not that I like a Chatty Cathy, but still...there is a social contract to fulfill here.

Much to my dismay, I don't get my "official" prescription until I go back next week, which means I couldn't pick out frames today. That saved me from choosing between the Wrangler and NASCAR lines of Ladies' Fashion Frames. Whew.