T-minus three days to superhuman vision

I’m getting LASIK Friday morning. The procedure became a reality with a $1,200 Living Social coupon, which I marginally fear will attribute to the quality of work done. We all know doctors like this:

Hi, everybody! (Source: http://blogs.houstonpress.com)

“Hi, everybody!” (Source: http://blogs.houstonpress.com)

“You’ve tried the best. Now, try the rest! Call 1-800-DOCTORB! The ‘B’ is for ‘bargain’”!  -Dr. Nick, The Simpsons

Nonetheless, I’ve never been happier to have someone cut flaps into my eyes (insert “windows to my soul” joke here) and shave down my unsightly, bulgy corneas with lasers. It’s such a natural process. Here are five things I’ll miss when my vision gains superhero status:

1. Stepping on stale, broken pieces of Chex in the kitchen.
If you’ve never experienced this, I’ll tell you the equivalent is stepping on glass. I’ve found corn Chex packs more of a punch than the rice variety. Being from Nebraska, where corn is kind of our thing, I’m not entirely surprised. It takes a tough breed to persevere here. Sure, I may inwardly scream when I step on a rigid sliver of corn Chex, but outwardly, I’m stone cold. Expressionless. I may as well have just stepped on puppy kisses.

2. Variable coordination skills.
Getting up in the morning and stabbing my gums with a toothbrush is an instant wake-up call. Lord knows I need it. Repeatedly missing the last step on the staircase has turned me into something of a dangerous thrill seeker. I like that about myself. Hitting the trashcan at the edge of the drive without fail every Wednesday? Ten points!

Who's to say I wouldn't see a raccoon if the trash were left there a bit longer? (Photo source: http://dailydinosaur.wordpress.com/)

Who’s to say I wouldn’t see a raccoon if the trash were left there a bit longer? (Photo source: http://dailydinosaur.wordpress.com/)

3. Communing with “nature.”
There’s nothing more magical then waking up early on a Saturday, brewing a pot of coffee and watching wildlife spring to action on a dew-filled morning. It’s a shared moment where I connect with wakening flora and fauna on a deep, spiritual level and marvel beauty unfolding at every angle. This special moment is indefinitely ruined when Clayton walks in and asks why I’ve been staring at a pile of trash spilling across the lawn, a victim of last night’s blustery winds. A pile of trash inexplicably resembling a raccoon, right down to his cute, white paws and tiny claws. Claws that, upon closer inspection, are actually prongs of a black, plastic fork, firmly holding a crumpled napkin in place. Aw, hell.

Unless you can't read this sign in time to make the turn. Bwahahahaha. (Photo source: http://www.alabasterwoman.com)

Unless you can’t read this sign in time to make the turn. Bwahahahaha. (Photo source: http://www.alabasterwoman.com)

4. Being part of a majority.
I imagine having superior eyes to most everyone in the world will be a difficult and exhausting adjustment. Once the public catches wind of my newfound powers, there will be no peace for me, just “Is this the exit we want?” and “Will you read me the specials menu again?” While I may dream of simpler days, the path I have chosen leads to greatness.

5. Not feeling useless at eye doctor appointments, that’s for sure
Fear of failure attempting ludicrous eye tests one can’t even study for beforehand will be a thing of the past! I shudder remembering last year:

Doctor: “Take out your contacts, please.”
Me: Takes out contacts. Eyes feel naked. Exposed.
Doctor: “Now, read the bottom line of letters.”
Me: Wraps arms around body. Rocks back and forth, hoping to suddenly attain psychic powers. “O.” Squints in shame. “T? Efff…?” Trails off, waiting for doctor to provide some sign of approval.
Doctor: Frowns.
Me: “Not F. That’s not what I meant. I choose P!”
Doctor: “You can’t pick and choose letters. This isn’t Wheel of Fortune. Tell you what, why don’t you read the smallest line you can?”
Me: “Still O, doc.”
Doctor: “Are you just looking at the circle at the top of the chart that hooks it to the wall?”
Me: “… maybe.” Hangs head.
Doctor: How about we put this big black spoon in front of one of your eyes, further maiming you so I can continue mocking your ineptitude?
Me: Indignant. “Well, at least I passed the hot air balloon test.”
Doctor: “All you had to do was stare straight forward until it came into focus…”
Me: Zoned out, concentrating on staring at the blob in front of me slightly resembling my doctor’s face and wondering if I’m even making direct eye contact with him. “Call it a day?”
Doctor: “See you next year!”

Well, Doc, the joke’s on you, because I WILL be seeing you this year. Quite clearly, in fact. Then I’ll tell you exactly which looks better – one or two. One or two. One or two.

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