Eye’ll Be Back. Probably.

I have to go to the opticians tomorrow, for my usual annual checkup. This worries me, for two reasons:

1. What if the optician looks into my eyes with his little light-stick thing, and spots a huge tumour growing in my brain? That can totally happen, you know, and the reason I know this is because I constantly get hits to this website from visitors who have Googled some variation of the phrase "OMG, opticians can totally spot brain tumours and that could happen to YOU, dude!"

Also, my optician has a tendency to make lots of sombre "Hmmmm" noises as he looks at my eyes, and my fevered brain tends to translate these sounds as "Hmmm, I wonder how I’m going to tell her about the massive brain tumour I’ve just spotted behind her left eye?" so by the time he tells me to "take a seat in the big chair" I always think the unspoken end of that sentence is "because you’re going to want to be sitting down for what I’m about to tell you." So, lots of fun there, then.

2. When he switches off the lights in the room and gets out the little light stick thing, which he then waves about in front of me, I always think he looks like he’s rave dancing. You know, like in the 90s? When people used to carry those day-glo sticks to raves and make "whooo! whoo!" sounds while waving them around? (* Has clearly never been to a rave in her life*) So that makes me want to laugh. Like, really, really badly.  Luckily, I’m usually able to prevent myself from laughing by thinking about the brain tumour, though, so we’re all good.

Also, just while we’re talking about the gym, (see that effortless transition there? That’s why I am a writer.) today when Terry and I went to Body Pump, I happened to glance down at the pool, which you can see through one of the windows in the Body Pump studio, and noticed that it was surrounded by women in snazzy swimsuits who were all just lounging around reading novels. In the GYM. For an hour. So, they were basically pretending to be sunbathing, only without any sun (because they were indoors), or a pool bar, or a martini or anything.

Anyway, I mentioned to Terry that this seemed a bit strange to me (because it’s a gym) and then he gave me that, "Oh my God, I have married a moron" look he does so well, and explained that no, it’s me who is a bit strange, and that there is nothing more normal in the world than to head down to the gym with your beach towel and a paperback. Apparently this is what all the cool kids are doing now. And then I felt stupid, because I normally just read in bed, where there are no screaming children or judgmental redheads walking by, and now I realise that I’ve been missing out on a whole world of sunless sunbathing at the gym.  RELAXING: UR DOIN IT RONG!

Maybe I should give it a try?