Going to the dentist no longer upsets me. Walking into a doctor’s office does not make me nervous. Make me go to the eye doctor, and you might get a slap across the face. I fucking hate going.

It’s not like I’m freaked out by eyes or think that it’s gross to touch my eyes or whatever.  I wear contacts- it’s a way of life. I just hate everything about the experience of going to the eye doctor.

It goes back to a few years ago, probably. Maybe even when I was in high school. To be quite honest, I’m not sure when it happened, but it definitely started when I had boobs. And could go places without the help of my parents.

Clear as day, I remember making an appointment to get my eyes checked to get another year-supply of contacts. I wasn’t PO’d about going, in fact I was pretty okay with the whole thing because I actually enjoy trying on different frames to see what I’d look like if I had cooler glasses than the pair I currently have. Anyway, everything was going just fine until the part where I actually go called to go into the tiny little room where the eye exam is actually conducted.

I don’t know what it is, but the most important requirement for becoming an eye doctor must be that you’re creepy as fuck.

I swear to God, it doesn’t matter how many places I go, how many times I switch carriers or even what day and time I make an appointment. Every single time, I get a new eye doctor. It’s always a dude and there is always something slightly not right about him.

It seems like every time I go, the guy is probably the same age as my dad, and is always just… inappropriate. For example, as he speaks to me about his wife and teenage daughter who “probably isn’t much younger than you haahaha” he just stares directly at my boobs.

No thank you!

We are not in any place for that to be okay with me. Please look away, sir, and behave as though your wife and teenage daughter can see you. Meaning: get the fuck away from me.

I can think of one- ONE!- who was actually hot and I didn’t mind that he was all up in my grill as he was asking me, “One, or two? Two, or three?”  We laughed over stories of drunken antics and quoted lines from The Hangover. Him, I was totally fine with. I didn’t even hold it against him when he had to drop that sticky yellow stuff into my eyes and then poke at my eyeball with a plastic instrument.

The man who checked out my eyes today at least drew attention to the fact that he may be a creeper.  He told me he was going to “tuck in a little closer” for the part where he flips his little lenses in front of my eyes to see how blind I am.  He told me to move my hand so he didn’t “seem like a pervert” or “creepier” than I already thought he was.

I laughed awkwardly but really just wanted all of it to be over.  Too right he was.

I mean, I wasn’t sexually harassed or anything but it’s just so uncomfortable. Too bad it’s something I must put up with once a year.  A necessary evil.

C’est la vie.

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