Nearly blind with jealousy

My eye doctor informed me last week that I’m not a candidate for LASIK eye surgery because I’m too darn farsighted. (To quote my eye doctor during my first visit with him: “Damn, you can’t see anything without glasses, can you?”) So, my life will remain encumbered with a contact case, eye drops and a pair of glasses, wherever I go.

To add salt to the eye-pride wound: My favorite man in D.C., French, had LASIK surgery on Tuesday. His eyes are about as bad as mine, but he’s nearsighted. French gave me the gory, step-by-step surgical details last night (hearing about the smell of a burning eyeball burning was a bit much, yet pretty cool); he’d probably love to tell you, too, if you’re interested.

That’s the handsome, 20/20 devil to the right, at Monticello in July 2004. A little before I took this photo, he shot that lovely picture of me at the top of the page.

Happy healing, French! Hope you’re reading the phone book by the weekend.

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