Forget four-eyes, I need six


Despite my incredibly reckless lifestyle and complete disregard for any ingredient list, nutritional value chart, or warning label on the things I put in my body, I like to think I’m in generally good physical condition. I’ve never broken a bone, I can make it up more than three flights of stairs without collapsing, and one time my manager made me do 10 push-ups at work and I got to, like, nine and a half.

So, essentially, I am the epitome of health.

And then, devastatingly, we get to my eyes. I am blinder than the three mice suffering from glaucoma wearing horse blinders driving without headlights on a foggy night in the country. If I don’t have contacts in or my glasses on, I am a genuine threat to society. I can’t see more than five and a half inches in front of my face. For real.

You probably think I’m being a little whiny right now, since there are much worse things out there than using body wash instead of shampoo once in a while in the shower, but I live a generally easy life, so this is what I’m going to complain about today.

I think my biggest issue stems from the sheer inconvenience of it all. For one thing, it never seems to stop deteriorating. When I was in sixth grade, I couldn’t see the board—kind of a bummer, but no big deal. Now, at 23, I have to tweet out a PSA every time I wear my glasses to school because they aren’t strong enough and all I do is squint and frown at people in the halls all day.

As if that wasn’t enough of a bother, I’ve also lost every ounce of depth perception I ever had. Last week I slammed my car door on my knee because I thought I was far enough away from the vehicle. I underestimated the required distance of my step back by a solid foot and my right leg could now easily be confused with a Dalmatian. The eye doctor did not prepare me for this.

Oh, and, side note: optometrists are easily the most passive aggressive of all doctors. It could be because I usually only go in there when I’ve left my contacts in for over a month and now need a prescription in order to save my vision, but, I swear on the entire Mighty Ducks trilogy, if one more crank-pot in a lab coat slaps my hand because of a scratched cornea, I’m putting my dog in a vest and wearing sunglasses for the rest of my life.


Answers to Fletch, Betty Spaghetti, or Hey You.

Long, shaggy blonde hair.

Slightly aggressive at first but usually warms up after she smells you.

Feed her pizza and she’ll be the most loyal friend you’ll ever have.

Follow her on Twitter @kylakylakyla__