If I keep this pace up, I just may become a blogger as opposed to a very occasional poster. And no one is more surprised about that than me. I have a growing backlog of potential posts that I  just haven't taken the time to bang out on a keyboard yet, but there are certain things I come across that simply need to be shared -- and pronto -- in order to take full advantage of the fact that a Google cache is forever. This is one such example:

It was the first week of college, and people were still settling in. One lazy afternoon, I wander down the dorm hallway and make my way into Amy's room. She had recently decorated in a retro-style motif to match the furniture loaned out by her parents' basement:

She's getting ready for class, and we're chatting idly as I watch her put in one of her contact lenses. Having never needed prescription glasses myself, I get the brilliant idea that I want to try one on "just to see what it feels like". Amy, even though already rushed and late for class, is more than eager to facilitate my request since this sort of experiment clearly takes priority over higher education.

"Sure! Here, just stick it in your eye."

"Um, ok."

(Isn't this how Darwin Award nominations start?)

"They are hard (i.e. not gas-permeable) lenses, but that should be fine. They are also tinted blue!"

"Way cool!!!"

Moments later, I start screaming. And, predictably, we can't get the lens out.

Side note: In case you've never worn hard contact lenses (or find yourself in a similar situation sometime in the near future), here is a quick e-How on proper removal in less than ideal circumstances.

In an emergency, The Blink Method can be used for hard contact lens removal:
  • Look straight ahead opening your eyes as wide as possible.
  • Place a fingertip on the outer corner of the eyelids so that pressure is applied evenly to both upper and lower lid margins.
  • Pull your finger towards the ear and slightly upwards. Then open the eye as wide as possible. Blink strongly and catch the lens in your other hand cupped under the eye.
  • If the lens does not come out with the first blink, relax, reposition your finger and repeat.

I am still screaming, and now crying. The one thing Amy didn't mention up front (outside of the very helpful information about the blue tint) was the fact that she is legally blind, and we're talking as-a-bat. So when my eyes aren't rolling into the back of my head, everything is a complete blur AND a shade of lime green. 

Meanwhile, Amy's giving frantic directions, demonstrating proper removal (by her standards) by pulling on the corner of her eyes and yelling, "Stretch-Up-Blink! Stretch-Up-Blink!"

Now Amy is tall and beyond slender, so she's all long legs and arms as it is. Add to that her naturally animated personality and the lime green backdrop, and this is what we get:

Crying...Laughing...Tears...Flailing Limbs. The whole nine-yards. After at least 10 minutes of this and by complete accident, the contact finally pops out.

"Ya know, I didn't really think you'd do it."


And we laugh some more. We didn't know each other that well at the time, but there is no way two people can share a "Stretch-Up-Blink" moment and not bond for life. It's just not possible.


Fast forward to almost two decades later, and I see the following comment on Amy's Facebook wall - something no one else would understand but me:

To me, this was "Blow-Dr-Pepper-Through-Your-Nose" funny. When the scene in my head played itself out in the same manner it did all those years ago, I envisioned Amy's solution to involve the theme music to The Lone Ranger (William Tell Overture), the roof of my mouth, and suction noises with my tongue in sync to the beat.

The scenarios that ran through my mind were limitless, and so was my laughter. Granted, this is probably one of those "needed to be there" moments, but it's one of the few things I can recall that still makes me giggle like a school girl every time I think about it. So, I for one, am certainly glad I actually was there - and not you.

I now qualify for prescription glasses that I wear on occasion. And you should have seen the look on the optometrist's face when he asked me if I wanted to try out contact lenses. Or rather, my look. To this day, I refuse to ever own a pair of those, much less voluntarily insert one in between my eyeball and eyelid and expect that to go over well. Besides, Amy and I live in different states now, and somehow I think getting instruction from her via a web cam would lessen its effectiveness...as well as all its charm.