Anybody With Eyes In Their Head Would Know

by Shelly Kneupper Tucker on June 24, 2008

Ordinarily, an optometrist appointment is not my idea of the social event of the season.

On that day in 1981, it was definitely a highlight of my month. I had given birth to my second son just six weeks before, and had been cooped up at home since arriving home from the hospital. I was going stir crazy, because my only company all day long was an infant and a very active 18 month old toddler. My social skills were slipping drastically, but I didn’t realize it until my ex-husband’s co-worker came for supper.

I sat the young man down at my kitchen table, cut up his steak for him, and dabbed his chin with a napkin. Fortunately, the look in his eye alerted me to my innapropriate actions just before I started trying to spoon feed him.

I watched his eyes glaze over as I attempted to make conversation. I then realized that the subject of my repartee was diaper brands and breast feeding. This young man, being unmarried, was totally unexperienced in those subjects. He remains a bachelor to this very day and I blame myself entirely for his condition.

When I got the card from my optometrist in the mail the next day, telling me I was six months overdue for an appointment, I grasped at the opportunity like a drowning man grabs a life preserver. I immediately called his office to make an appointment. Then, I gleefully arranged a lunch date downtown with my best friend, and called a babysitter.

I can’t describe for you the excitement of preparing for this event. It was as important to me as going to a prom! I spent hours searching through my wardrobe for anything that might fit me. That was no easy task, because I was not yet back to my “fighting weight” after giving birth.

Most of the slacks I tried on made me look like a sausage. In the dark recesses of my closet, I found a gold colored pantsuit that fit just right. It was almost too dressy for daytime, but it fit me, so it would do.

On the day of my appointment, I took extra care with my makeup and hair. I brushed my teeth three times because I was going to be up close and personal with this optometrist. He was quite a handsome man, and I wanted to make a good impression. Yes, I was married but I wasn’t dead!

I nervously waited for the babysitter, trying to calm a whiny toddler and soothe a colicky infant, as I held him on my shoulder. When she arrived, I handed over the children and headed for the car. My remorse over leaving my children in the hands of a stranger lasted for almost a New York minute.

When I was ushered into the optometrist’s office, I looked into his brown eyes and nearly melted. Did I mention he was darned good looking? He took my hand and flashed me a dazzling smile, “Shelly!” he exclaimed. “So good to see you! How is that new baby doing?”

What? I didn’t know this man socially, and hadn’t been to his office in a year and a half! How could he know I had a new baby? Unless…maybe he thought I was interesting, and had kept up with me?!

I was flattered beyond belief.

During the appointment, the doctor chatted with me like we were old friends. I was ecstatic at the opportunity to carry on a conversation with an adult. I also made darned sure I didn’t mention diaper brands or breast feeding!

Later, when I met my friend for lunch, I was grinning like a possum in a plum tree. I couldn’t wait to tell her that the doctor must have a secret crush on me. “You’ll never believe this, but the doctor must be interested in me! He keeps up with what I’m doing! He even knew I had a new baby!”

I had expected her to be amazed and jealous. Instead, she just shook her head and smirked.

“Shelly, Shelly, Shelly,” she said. “Of course he knew you had a new baby. He doesn’t keep up with your goings on. You don’t have to be an optometrist to see the ‘urp’ running down your sleeve! Anybody with eyes in their head would know you have a new baby.”

Mortified, I looked down at my lovely gold jacket. Indeed, the baby had spit up on me, and there was a huge glob of crusty, orange vomit on my shoulder and sleeve.

Well, that took the wind out of my sails. I have always felt a little sheepish about that incident. So why am I telling you about it? Because it’s the kind of story that I want you to tell me!

I’ve got a writing contest going on for the next couple of weeks. I’m calling it “Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall.” All you have to do is write about an incident that was a hideous beauty experience. You know you have a story to tell. Just click on the link to find out how to enter. The deadline is July 4th!

Somebody tell me some stories, so I don’t think I am the only person in the world who embarrasses herself because of her vanity.