Four Eyes Forever

When the receptionist asks, "And would you like to schedule another appointment now?" as I pay at the hairdressers I nod eagerly. I will diligently make new hair appointments in advance to make sure that I'm keeping myself from looking too shaggy, but it's those appointments that matter that I will regret allowing to go postponed when I'm older: dentist, doctor, optometrist.
I returned to the eye doctor's just yesterday, like the prodigal son. And apparently the blind, prodigal son. I guessed that it had probably been at least over two years since I'd been for an eye exam. However, after the doctor flipped different lens options in front of me to figure out my new prescription she asked, "Are you sure it's only been two years? You're prescription has changed a lot." She followed that statement shortly with the question, "Have you ever considered contacts?" "What? I don't need contacts!" I wanted to reply, but then I realized that even by asking the question she was gently telling me that I did. Apparently, as she explained, I have been settling for compromised vision, and if I were to wear contacts I'd notice a greater clarity. I felt sullen, like I did the day that the dentist told me I'd gotten my first cavity. Gone were the days of hopping down from the dentist's chair to tell mom, "No cavitites!!"
I don't think I'll go straight to contacts, especially because apparently my eyes have worsened so much that the doctor is giving me a new prescription that isn't quite as strong as what I really need. Making the jump to the full prescription would probably make me out of sorts for a while, she explained. "Okay," I mumbled.
I selected my new frames, ignoring prices: I now knew that if this pair was going to sit on my face full-time, I might as well pick the ones I really like. Stupid glasses. Stupid cavities.