Who was that masked man?

 

Wednesday was my annual eye check-up.

I was happy to learn that unlike too many other body parts, not much has changed. The land in the back portion is healthy and quiet, and in front there’s no sign yet that I need to think about cataracts. I don’t really deserve all this good news after taking my eyes for granted most of my life, not having them checked until I was retirement age. First I was 20-20, then bought progressively stronger cheaters starting with graduate school in my 40s. If I hadn’t had to read and analyze a novel every two days I wonder if I’d still be able to see like a hawk. Probably not.

          In this world of masks over masks, I have little idea what my optometrist looks like above the ankles. I can tell you he has a thing for shoes. I’ve admired his (what looked like) alligator shoes, although this week he wore more sedate black lace-ups. He made up for this with green, yellow, and black striped socks, which even in my dilated state I could appreciate.

          Yesterday’s root canal went well, if you can say that about a root canal. Outside of that first stab as he drove the needle full of good drugs deep into my head and out the back, it was painless. Apparently this go-round I won the jackpot, needing all four of the canals of this tooth Roto-Rootered. Again, I have no idea what my endodontist looks like, even though this was my second visit to him. He sneaks up from in back of me, greets me with an elbow bump and jumps right in. Meanwhile, I’m in sunglasses for the glare, with my head almost touching the floor, listening to the background music playing “Hit me with your best shot.”  I’m pretty sure he's a small man, a good thing since with the amount of armature he packs into my mouth, there’s only room left in there for someone with tiny hands.