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whatimeant2say cannot be said

Two weeks ago, I took our elderly friend, MILlie, to an optical store.  To get new glasses.  MILlie did not like the new glasses that we got 6 months ago.  So, since the day after we picked up those glasses the second time (because they did not suit her the first time) she has been wearing the ones she vehemently opposed before we ever began this adventure last year.

Despite the fact that I had taken MILlie to an eye doctor in town, she chose to go back to her former eye doctor 2 hours away – the one who had been responsible for the first pair of glasses she hated – to get another prescription.  Then, she proceeded to hint to me, not so tactfully, that she needed to get that prescription filled with new glasses.

I polled friends to find out the name of a local place that would meet MILlie’s expectations – something better than the l0w-cost chain store I had taken her to the first time.  Finally, one friend gave me a reference.  It turned out to be right next door to the eye doctor to which I had taken her.  I had initially spurned this place because it looked quite pricey.  MILlie used to get her eyeglasses at Sears, and I was pretty sure she could not handle the sticker shock.

When I explained to MILlie that this was the only other place I had heard of in town that had pleased 100% of the customers I had polled (not mentioning that I only knew one customer), but that it was definitely going to cost more for one pair than the two pairs we got 6 months ago, she pondered it for a couple of weeks.  Finally, she started to hint that I should take her there.

The new shop is a small “boutique” store with one person, the owner, working.  MILlie chose the biggest coke-bottle lenses she could find from the display wall, and told the owner that was what she wanted.  He told her that they were too big.  She looked at me.

“Uhuh,” I said.  “I am not saying anything this time.  I gave you my opinion last time, and you ended up hating them.”

These would have been too small in MILlie's opinion. photo credit: ClickFlashPhotos / Nicki Varkevisser via photopin cc

The owner persuaded her to try another pair that was slightly smaller.  She turned to get my opinion.  I shook my head, and pursed my lips stubbornly.

She finally ordered a pair with absolutely no input from me – despite at least three more attempts.

Today, I took her to pick them up.  When we arrived, there was another pair of ladies already waiting.  The eldest one, when called to the chair where fittings took place, set her glasses down on the table, looked the owner square in the face, and said, “I do NOT like these glasses.  I don’t want bifocals.  I want one pair of dark ones for driving, and I want another pair for reading.”

Her friend, who looked about 60, turned to me smiling.  “Bertie has never been one to mince words.”

I grinned, but inwardly I groaned.  I admired Bertie’s honesty, but I was afraid MILlie would, too.  If MILlie suddenly decided she wanted two different pairs of glasses instead of the multitasking pair we had originally ordered, I was going to have to give this job to someone else and/or feed her glasses to Wonderbutt.

Bertie tried a new pair of frames, and turned to her friend, who said nothing.  Bertie turned back around, and her friend looked at me, smiling with closed mouth as she moved her fingers across her lips.  I sensed a bosom buddy.

Finally, Bertie was pleased.  Her friend quickly got her own business taken care of, and it was MILlie’s turn.  I held my breath for the announcement that she would like to change her glasses.

But the announcement never came.  MILlie tried on her new pair, and declared herself satisfied.  The entire trip home, she exclaimed about the crispness of the leaves on the trees.

I tried to be hopeful, but that was what she did six months ago…


I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means

Well, I’ve made it 84 posts without bringing this up, but I’m afraid my streak is ending.

You know how you avoid mentioning some people in your post, because you don’t want them to recognize themselves, or you just plain don’t want to be one of those people who talks behind others’ backs?  Well, those aren’t my reasons for avoiding this topic.  I just had a lot of other things to talk about, and now I’m out of ideas.

So, I happen to be very close to an elderly woman.  I won’t say what the relationship is, but let’s just call her MILlie.  MILlie is the sweetest person in the world, but she’s getting up there in years, and needing a little more help than she used to.

This is not MILlie. And this picture is not a clue about my relationship to MILlie. 😉

MILlie just moved to the big city to an apartment around the corner from us.  After living in a town with two streetlights for 30 years, she is having a hard time finding her way around and negotiating San Antonio traffic.  That’s where I come in.  Kind of like the slightly less blind leading the blind.

Which is a nice seque into the next paragraph.

For about a year, MILlie has been complaining about her eyeglasses.  Finally, I convinced her to visit my own eye doctor, who found her previous prescription to be very wrong, and wrote out a new one for her.  This necessitated a visit to the local Eyeglassorama Extraordinaire, who promised her not one, but two new pairs in two weeks.  MILlie was delighted at this guarantee of improved sight, and declared she would be throwing those Horrible Old Glasses away as soon as the new ones arrived.

I dutifully took MILlie to the discount people two weeks later, and they patiently fitted her eyeglasses.  Afterwards, we went to lunch and celebrated her amazing super-duper vision.

I think you can see where this is going.  Pun intended.  Since this whole post is in bad taste anyway, I don’t see the problem in sticking a few puns in here and there.

So, a few weeks later, you can imagine my consternation when MILlie appeared to have begun wearing the Horrible Old Glasses again.  After some quizzing from me, she admitted that the new ones just didn’t seem right.

Back to Eyeglassorama Extraordinaire we went, and a very nice man tolerantly attempted to get down to the problem MILlie had with her glasses.  After determining one pair hadn’t gotten the right lens prescription and the other one needed some frame adjusting, he took them both to send out for repairs.

When they finally came in again, Cap’n Firepants took MILlie to pick them up, presumably going through the same fitting song and dance that had already happened twice now.

MILlie declared herself satisfied.

Today, I took MILlie for her first haircut in the big city.  She had been unhappy with her hair for at least a year, and had taken to wearing thin pink plastic headbands in it to keep it out of her face, making her look slightly deranged. It took about 30 minutes for her to negotiate with the stylist about her cut.  When a suitable one seemed to be agreed upon, the shearing ensued.

I could not believe the difference.  After the cut, MILlie looked at least 10 years younger.  I enthusiastically thanked her stylist, and took a bunch of phone photos of MILlie Minus the Headband.  We went to lunch and celebrated her new gift of an updated do.

MILlie declared herself satisfied.

Halfway through lunch, I noticed her glasses.  Her old pair.  The pair she had cursed up and down and wanted to throw out the car window while the car was moving.  I had been so focused on her hairstyle, I hadn’t paid attention until then to the glasses she had replaced on her nose after the cut and style. They were curiously slanted on one side farther from her face, but they were definitely the old pair.

When I asked her about it, she said she was still trying to get used to the new ones.

Kind of hard to do if you aren’t wearing them.

MILlie is coming to dinner tonight.  If she doesn’t have either the old pair of glasses or the pink headband on, I will delete this post.

If it’s still here tomorrow, well, then, I think it’s safe to assume that MILlie was not satisfied.

From "The Princess Bride"

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