Eye exams can be dangerous for my mental health

My boys. . .my heart

Here's a picture of the culprits. . .er. . .I mean my boys. The little one looks like me, the big one looks like his Dad.

Most people can go to the eye doctor without incident, not me. Maybe it’s the soft fluorescent lighting, or the soul-soothing music; whatever it is, the moment I step into the office and catch a whiff of the vanilla-scented air, my mind becomes a bowl of Jell-O.

“Oh, that’s an interesting last name, a new front desk attendant chirped as I signed in. “Are you Roman?”

I was only listening with half my mind, the other half was intent on watching Robert, and making sure he didn’t indulge himself by breaking a pair of designer glasses on a rack. “Huh? Oh no, I’m not roaming. I’ve lived here for almost fifteen years,” I replied absently as I grabbed Robert’s inquisitive hands.

There was silence after my statement, then the receptionist burst into giggles. “That’s a good one,” she chuckled.

“Umm. . .thanks. Did I say something funny?” I asked, giving her a blank look.

“You, you weren’t trying to be funny?” she stuttered, turning as red as a tomato.

“No. You asked me if I was roaming, and I told you I’d been living here for fifteen years.”

The receptionist burst into laughter. “No sweetie; I saw your last name and asked if you were Roman.”

It was my turn to blush. “Oh,” I laughed uncomfortably. “Well, the last name is Italian, but its origin is more Sicilian.” Why’d she ask me that anyway? No one has ever been that specific.

During the rest of our conversation, the reception revealed she had just returned from her honeymoon trip to Rome; she thought I looked Roman.

After the receptionist regaled me with her honeymoon adventures, I sunk into one of the comfy chairs and Robert played happily with an office toy. In a few minutes, a handsome young eye tech game to the door and called my name. “Is it okay if we take the toy into the exam room?” I asked, glancing anxiously at my son playing on the floor. “Cause if we don’t, there’s going to be a flood of tears.”

“I don’t see why not,” the tech replied.

I MEANT to say, “Come on baby,” to Robert; instead, I looked at the tech and said “Thanks baby.” The young man gave me a strange look as he ushered me into the room.
Before I leave here, they’re going to think I’m a blathering idiot.

In a short time, Dr. “H” breezed into the room. “It wonderful to see you again,” he said, patting my on the shoulder.

Yeah, you wouldn’t say that if you knew what I thought the last time I was here. Thankfully, the exam was completed without incident. I hope that by the time I return next year, they’ll have forgotten everything that happened this visit. Hopefully. . .but I doubt it.