It’s become clear that I can’t get laid until That Boy moves out

Tuesday I had an appointment for an eye exam. Something I'd been putting off for a couple of years, but the time came. I have never had the dilated exam done before, always refusing because I had to drive myself home. And I was paranoid about it. Especially after it caused a dear friend of mine to faint one time. The stories about her lying on the gurney in the ER wearing her sunglasses, while amusing, are not something I wanted to experience first-hand.

Anyway, I made the appointment, and I told That Boy that he'd have to come with me so that I would have someone to drive me home. The time arrives, and off we go, to J. C. Penney Optical Department. This would not have been my first choice of where to get an eye exam, but my vision insurance, while good (no copay) limits my choices, and the Pearle Vision place had a new doctor who was not yet a participant. Not wanting to pay $50 when I could pay nothing, we went to Penney's.That Boy was content to sit outside the exam room and wait for me, but he's large (6'4" and around 180) and being 18, he can be a little surly looking. So the optometrist told him to come on into the room. I think he didn't want That Boy to frighten the little old ladies who were filling the store with their poodle perms. That Boy comes in, and naturally I put him in charge of guarding my purse. He's a man after all; that's his job.

I have to paint a picture of the optometrist. Close your eyes and think of a beige/brown turtle. That's your picture. He was wearing a turtleneck, some sort of slacks, and a vest, in various shades of beigey brown/brownish beige with just a smidge of burnt orange (sort of like my mother's kitchen in the 70s). What was really scary about the color combo is that his was not wearing prints; all solids. And he was tiny. I think he reached That Boy's nipples in height, and I towered over him (5'7" here). We do the puff test (which I hate) and then I move back into the larger chair for the exam.

Fortunately for me, there were no dilating drops needed. Apparently there's a different thing they can do now to look at the fundus of the eye (look it up), and I'm guessing that's what Dr. Turtle was doing when he was all up in my face. The man was so close to me shining his light in my eye that I wished I had an Altoid. For me, not for him, he was without any sort of scent at all, as if he were all dried up. I've had sex with men who didn't get that close to my face. I'm not proud of that; it's just a fact. I really hope that my breath was not offensive to Dr. Turtle, who may also have been a little deaf. He asked me what That Boy's name was, which offended That Boy because he felt that (a) it was none of this guy's business and (b) ask That Boy himself not his mom. I told him the name (Tony because I've used his name here before), and then later Dr. Turtle called him Johnny. Which really pissed That Boy off.

The exam over, we leave. I discovered that my current glasses prescription is one that can be filled by over-the-counter reading glasses, since it's the same for both eyes and I only need them for close up work. I manage to go to the eye doctor, get a new prescription, and not have to spend any money. I was happy about that, if not more than a little angry about the fact that the last couple of times I've had an eye exam, no one bothered to tell me that OTC readers were an option and I've spent hundreds on glasses that I may not have needed.

But, to the reason I titled this blog as I did. After we left, That Boy and I went to mom's for a little bit. On the way there, That Boy tells me that he thought Dr. Turtle was going to try to "cop a feel on my mom" during the test. Then he said that if that had happened, "I'd have broken his hip and walked out of the room like nothing happened. And no jury would convict me because the guy copped a feel on my mom while I was in the room." Apparently it didn't occur to That Boy that if Dr. Turtle had indeed tried such a thing, he'd have drawn back a bloody stump courtesy of me. I may have reached the advanced age of thirty-twelve, but dammit I can still take care of myself.

That Boy did tell me, fairly recently, that as far as boys are concerned, once his mom has given birth to him, she's done with the sexy fun part of her life. He and his friends who have single moms are all in agreement. Once a woman has a son, that's it. He's the man in her life if dad departs the picture; the only man she needs. I have friends who are single mothers of sons who tell me that boys usually gets this idea in his head around age 8. That Boy was 9 when his father and I split, so apparently, in his eyes, I've been done for a while, like since the early part of my first thirties.

It would seem that boys do not outgrow this. My youngest brother, who is 32, told us at our mother's birthday party that his mom is not allowed to date either, adding "don't be fronting" to my other brother. And after I thought about it for a while and discussed it with mom, we both came to the conclusion that the men in our family don't think either of us should get laid, ever. I've asked my oldest younger brother (since I'm the actual oldest) many times if he knows anyone who's single that I could meet. My mom's asked him the same thing (he's a builder and he meets a lot of men). Every single time, he says something like, "no, you don't want to meet that guy." Or "every single guy I know is single for a good reason."

Who needs a chastity belt when you have a family full of large overly protective men? I may actually have to try to meet a man on my own or online. Right after That Boy moves of my house.