Flipped My Lid

All my life, I've found going to the eye doctor kind of creepy. It's the darkened room, the stranger all up in your face. It's weird. I don't know why the eye doctor is the one that specifically wigs me out, since any type of doctor is pretty much inside of one's dancing space. (Remember Johnny in Dirty Dancing? "This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine.") Doctors can't heed the sage words of Mr. Castle. They are supposed to get in your space. Dentists are all in your mouth and stuff, but yet, I'm comfortable with that. And other types of doctors, who tend to make you wear those buttless paper outfits (now THAT should be a Project Runway challenge: "make a better looking disposable paper hospital gown. Carry on!"), you'd think that would be the creepiest form of doctory going. But no. For me, it's the eye doctor. Maybe it's the lighting. Other doctors' offices keep the lighting harsh and bright, clinical to the max. Eye doctors, though. They get you with that mood lighting. The lights go down and you half expect a record player to pop out of the wall and a wet bar to flip out of the counter, like Rock Hudson's apartment in Pillow Talk. Or at least that's what you expect if you're me, and you think that life could turn into a Doris Day movie at any moment.

When I was growing up, I had this eye doctor who was perfectly nice, but he used to wear this head gear thing that had a light on it. Like a miner. So there I am, a little kid, sort of scared of strangers, and there's this guy who looks like he's half Borg or something, looming over me. The other thing I remember about him is that when he was up close to me, I could hear him breathing, and he always had a sort of whistling sound that came out of his nose. I almost expected a tumbleweed to drift out of there.

My other memorable eye doctor was one that Neighbor J and I went to, who we dubbed The Lid Flipper. He was a socially awkward man, who made stale jokes and never could pronounce my name right. The awfulness about him was that he would do this thing where he would check the inside of your eyelids. I have never, before or since, had any eye doctor do this. He would take this long Q-Tip, tell you to look down, and press the cotton end of the Q-tip onto your upper eyelid, and FLIP IT INSIDE OUT. Remember how there was always some weird little boy in elementary school who could flip their eyelids inside out? Well, this one grew up to be an eye doctor, and he's doing it to his patients. Lemme tell ya, it don't feel so good. It burns, actually. And of course, when you're at the doctor, you just try to go with whatever hellish thing they are putting you through, instead of yelling out "what the fuck are you doing flipping my eyelids inside out? You getting your jollies offa this, Lid Flipper?"

So, after a few sessions with the Lid Flipper and a change of health insurance, I found a new eye doctor. Just picked his name out of my insurance book (such a great thing, our health care system). Well, people, I hit the jackpot with this one. I now have, what I am sure is THE BEST EYE DOCTOR EVER. I love him. He's nice, he's funny, he makes such lovely, witty conversation. It's like you're hanging out with a friend, only-- oh yeah-- he's checking your eyes too. He's always so pally, asking me about the librarian business, so happy to see me, and we often talk lovingly of Chicago, where we both used to live. We have, like, these real conversations that are actually entertaining. So now, I look forward to going to my eye doctor.

Ok, you got me. I confess. In addition to all of the above, he's also, um, well, how shall I put this...he's hawt. Yes indeedy, I have me some eye candy for my eye doctor. Believe me, there is no impropriety involved, but...sigh...he's foxy. So, there I am, a life-long creeped-out-by-the-eye-doctor girlie, and, well, I'm not minding the dimmed lights quite so much. Sure, go ahead, be all up in my space. I suddenly don't have a problem with that. In fact, I sit there and think up funny things that I could say...

Him: Could you read the last line on this chart please?
Me: U R H-O-T.
Him: What?
Me: Oh. I mean... I M O-V-E-R-H-E-A-T-I-N-G.
Him: Oh no.
Me: Oops, sorry. Did I say that out loud?

Ok, so maybe going to the eye doctor is still creepy. Only now the tables have turned on the source of the creepyness.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl