Life Through A Fisheye Lens

It was a week ago today. A friend was moving into a new home. As I am an incredibly good friend, I opted to help. I lifted and carried and lugged and hoisted, loading everything into a large truck before heading to my friend’s new home.

That is when tragedy struck.

I was helping to pick up a set of drawers when, without warning, the dresser began to tip back. Using massive upper body strength the likes of which have only been told of in ancient mythology, I tilted it back just in time. It did not hit me in the face, but rather just barely scraped the corner of my glasses. We began to walk, but something did not feel right.

We continued on, me ignoring the nagging feeling I had. Out of the truck and down a hill we went. Finally, we reached the basement door and went inside. I reached up and my worst fears were realized. That tiny scrape had been just enough to break the already fragile frames of my glasses.

The rest of the day was spent with me carefully avoiding anything that would completely finish off my glasses. When I arrived home, I gave them to my wife, hoping she could fix them and restore vision to me. She pulled out one of the greatest inventions in history, Gorilla Glue, and set to work. Within minutes, my glasses were back together.

This lasted all of 24 hours. I arrived home from work the next day and went to change clothing. As I lifted the shirt over my head, I felt the all-to-familiar “pop” of the frames separating. Another trip to the glue, and my glasses were back together.

Then, with a scratch of my head, Tuesday brought the same fate that Monday had. Another gluing job, and they were back together again. It seemed like maybe this whole gluing thing was not a permanent situation. I began to locate an optometrist, hoping to procure new glasses.

Thursday, I went through all of their tests. They blew air in my eye. They made me stare at the bright green dot. They asked, “which is better, one or two or one or two or maybe three.” At the end, I had a clean eye bill of health. I went to the large wall of glasses, attempting to find new frames that met my criteria: first, they needed to fit my giant bulbous head. Second, they should not be broken.

With the help of the lady that works there, I tried on dozens of pairs of glasses. Finally, I slipped on what must have been my 357th pair of frames.

“Ooooooo!” the two ladies behind the desk said in unison. It is rare that two people will respond so favorably in unison, but I had gotten it and I was taking it. I selected those frames, had my pupils measured, learned that pupil placement affects the lenses of glasses, and then paid. I was ready for these glasses, glasses where no glue would be required.

“Okay,” the woman said in her thick southern drawl. “Those should be here in 7-10 days. I will give you a call when they’re here and you can just come by and grab them.”

My heart sank. That meant 7-10 more days of these broken glasses. As I walked out of the office, I heard sad music in my head. I trudged down the stairs and to my car in the parking lot. Sitting down, I sighed. Then I realized something. My glasses had been intact for almost 48 hours now. Maybe I had finally glued them perfectly. These 7-10 days would fly by. In fact, I could probably just cancel my glasses order because these were going to last forever.

They fell apart on the way home.

Two more repair attempts brought us to today. I had a great idea. I had purchased epoxy putty. Using this, my glasses would effectively become invincible. My wife followed the directions, again working as my eyes. She worked hard, carefully molding the putty around the frame as if this had been her craft for her entire life. Finally, she handed them to me.

“These should be fixed now,” she said. I slipped them onto my head and they immediately came apart.

“I know I saved my old glasses,” I said, clearly frustrated. “I have no idea where they are, though.”

“Hold on,” she said, walking to the bedroom. She came back with a pair of glasses that I had originally gotten five years ago. They were entirely intact.

While all of this may seem good, there is an issue. My eyes have yet to adjust to this old prescription, and presently, the world looks like it is in a fishbowl to me. For the next week and a half, I will feel like I am an aquatic creature living my life in some sort of concave crystal. It will be a long 7-10 days.

On the bright side, I will have so much free time now that I have cut out the “gluing my glasses back together” part of the day. I might be able to pick up a new hobby. You know, just as long as it does not involve seeing clearly.


4 thoughts on “Life Through A Fisheye Lens

  1. Do you have any idea how much photographic fisheyes cost? Consider yourself lucky! Next time you need glasses in a hurry, go to Seoul, Korea. They have 24-hour opticians that make the glasses while you wait, and you don’t wait long. The price is right, too. The trouble is you’d have to buy quite a few pairs to offset the airfare.


  2. Isn’t it funny how things go around. I am very late reading your post because of Camp NaNoWriMo, but this week my hubby has been tripping back & forth to the optometrists because he was also having eye trouble. His family has a propensity for glaucoma so if something seems amiss he needs to have it checked out. This is a new doctor for him because we moved over an hour away from our old eye doctor. Good luck with your new glasses! I used to have to wear frosted lenses, maybe your old glasses are like that?


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