Today is the day of our annual, family migration to visit the eye doctor. We love our eye doctor, probably more than is normal and thanks to the events recorded here, we found him. Because I was never, ever going back to that other office.
My husband and I had been dating for about a year when we decided to go have our eyes checked, at the same time, by the same doctor, like some weird medical date. No one ever said we were normal.
I had been using mall doctors and some recent hype about *the specific mall doctor I had been seeing not actually having a medical degree* sent me to the little office a few miles down the road. Maybe I should have been more disturbed by the fact that the office was sandwiched between a used car lot and a skanky Chinese take-out.
The first thing the staff did was separate us. Him in one exam room and me in the waiting room. It took 3 women to examine him and 1 to ignore me sitting there waiting. When they finally called me back to a different exam room (unsurprising), I overheard a lot of cooing coming from the room where all I could see were asses and elbows…and his knees. It was starting to feel a little weird.
I went through my exam and noticed that all of the staff were a little, ahem, snotty with me. The doctor was nice enough, though he laughed when he read that his attendent had actually quoted me saying, “I would rather give birth than have that puff of air blown into my eye.”
Meanwhile the bevvy of average to below-average looking optometry office employees were outside my exam room somewhere swooning over my lover’s gorgeous, big blue eyes. They talked him into contact lenses. I’m not sure if it was because he would need to come back more often or because they make more money off of those, but I was betting on them wanting him back. Alone.
It was ridiculous. They were really quite rude to me and essentially falling all over my husband. Every one of them must have been ovulating *that day*! I mean, yes, Mark has gorgeous, blue eyes. He is thin and looks like, well, like he would be good at ‘it’…at least I’ve heard that from women several times over the years. I’m certainly not telling. (Okay, I am telling. He is.)
When we finally escaped that place he was a little sweaty and nervous and I was almost hysterical in that I’m going to laugh for an hour but I don’t know why, kind of way. I just kept thinking of the scene in Oh Brother, Where Art Thou where Delbert and Everett wake up and see Pete’s clothes and think he’s been turned into a frog. “Cain’t you see it Everett? Them Sireens did this to Pete. They loved him up and turned him into a h-h-horny toad!”
Needless to say, we never went back. This scene with the Sirens in the creek has always reminded me of the women in that doctor’s office. Whenever I talk about them, and the story is too good not to be told, I always quote Delbert and call them, ‘Them Sireens.’ Thank god my old man is too deaf to hear their call.