I went to the eye doctor this morning. He peered through the picture-windows of my soul. That's because I had those dilation drops dripped into my peepers. My mom drove me. It's been a couple years since I had that exam, but I knew that I would need a chauffeur. Everything appeared to be underwater until around 2:00. The drops went in at 8:45, with symptoms to allegedly dissipate within three hours. Yeah. Right.
I knew that I would not be able to drive to town for my Sonic soda, so my mom picked one up for me on our way back to the Mansion. While my vision had improved by afternoon, my pupils were still the size of pencil erasers. I had no desire to venture out of my dark basement lair and into the light of 10,000 suns.
By 5:30, I was eager to go fetch the mail. I thought of just jumping in T-Hoe and truckin' the mile to the mailbox row. Good thing I checked the full-length mirror first. I looked like a freakin' clown! I was wearing a white and yellow pin-striped big shirt with a button-down collar, gray capri-length sweatpants with a wide purple stripe down the side, white crew socks rolled down at the ankle, and red Crocs. Then there was the matter of my bottomless, drowning-pool eyes. All I needed was to accidentally lock my keys in T-Hoe, or get run over by some speeding scofflaw in the middle of the county road. Imagine the fright of the ambulance crew when they saw a hulking, squashed, bloody clown with hypnotizing pupils. Which they would most likely have reported as fixed and dilated.
Uh uh. I can go to great lengths to draw attention to myself. But this is not one of them.