This story is a bit late in the telling, but better late than never.
Several months ago, I finally grew weary of the continuous headaches and peeling my contacts off my eyes like they were band-aids, so I broke down and made an appointment with an optometrist.
It had been... oh, almost two years since I'd seen an eye doctor. This lapse was due to several reasons, but mostly because A) I'm lazy and always push off things like going to the doctor and B) I needed to find a new optometrist and because I'm lazy, I pushed it off even more.
But the mind numbing headaches had to go.
So after polling my Facebook friends and reading all their suggestions, I followed none of their recommendations and made an appointment at the Allegany Optical not far from my house.
And when I arrived for my appointment, I immediately decided I'd made a good choice. The doctor was prompt. Pleasant. Very good at her job.
My main issue with going to the eye doctor is the feeling that I'm being tested and failing miserably.
1? Or 2?
Umm... 1? Maybe...?
Okay 3? Or 4?
Ummm... I don't know. 4?
A? Or B?
Is assigning them letters supposed to make it easier to answer???
If you've ever been cross-examined by an optometrist, you know what I'm talking about. It's like taking a multiple choice test, but the right answer isn't listed.
But this doctor was good.
She listened to the problems I was having, set a few things on her big head gear thingie, changed a few things while I looked through it, and BOOM! Best clarity I've ever had in my life (which honestly isn't really saying much, but still).
I was so happy with my nice new optometrist.
And then she started making comments about how things were when we were younger.
Awww. Nice new optometrist making small talk. I like her :-)
And then she mentioned that she runs into my brother sometimes having lunch at the restaurant across the street.
Ummm... what? How do you know I have a brother? OMG my nice new optometrist is a STALKER. CODE RED!! CODE RED!! We have a Single White Female situation!
And then she starts talking about people we went to school with and things that happened when we were in school.
And concerns about being bludgeoned with my own stiletto disappeared, only to be replaced with that feeling you get when you're obviously supposed to know someone and you have absolutely NO IDEA who they are.
I mean, I knew her name, obviously. And it isn't exactly a common name, so it's not something you would forget... and it wasn't ringing any bells. Whatsoever.
Married name??? Probably.
So I did what you always do in that situation. I put on a super bright smile and nodded a lot. Pretending like I knew exactly what was going on.
Blessedly, we were on a schedule, so I got my prescription and got the hell out of there, so I could call my brother and find out why I'm supposed to know her.
Apparently he had typing class with her, which made me feel better because that would make her his age, and why would I know someone who was three years behind me in school? But then he tells me, she was older. Probably in the same grade as I was.
No. I refuse to accept that. I wasn't exactly Miss Popular, but I mean, I at least knew, most of the people in my grade.
I wasn't going to rest until the mystery was solved. So when I got back to the office, I emailed Megan and Liz with all the information I had at my disposal. Which admittedly wasn't much.
There were a couple of guesses.
But I could not drop the subject until I had a confirmed identity. I was like a dectective with Scotland Yard trying to work through the aliases and identify my suspect.
When I got home that evening, I immediately pulled out the yearbooks.
And there she was. Two years behind me. Using a nickname AND a maiden name.
And making me completely neurotic. Well played, madam. Well played.