Ol’ Robbo is wearing his contacts today for the first time in, oh, four or five months now.

It has taken that long for me to finally decide that I really don’t like the supposedly “expert-crafted” new glasses foisted on me by an ophthalmologist I am gradually coming to think of as Dr. Ripoff.

For one thing, I’m not sure they really help the ol’ vision that much, either up close or far away, despite their alleged gradual bifocal properties.  I shouldn’t finish up the day with my eyes literally streaming tears of strain.

For another, the damn-all peripheral blinkering is really becoming a nuisance/hazard, particularly when I’m driving and particular-particularly as we enter that part of the year in which my commute both ways is in the dark and which I call “the Time of the Mole People”.

For a third, the constant weight on the bridge of my nose is really beginning to irritate.

And finally, staring into a mirror and realizing that the coke bottle thickness of the lenses makes my eyes look as if they’d been dropped to the bottom of a pair of fishbowls, I came to the realization of what an utter nerd they make me appear.  Yes, alright, I confess to vanity.  Mea culpa.

Thus, the contacts came out of storage this morning.  Of course, they’re still the old prescription so will need to be upped again, but I think that worth it now.  For close work, I’ve gone back to the pair of cheap-o reading specs I picked up at Rite-Aid.

I don’t really know why I’m telling you this except to say that if you see me squinting more than usual, you’ll know why.