Damn you, tiny print!

So, I don’t have the best vision in the world.  I grew up as the girl with the thick glasses, which were passed around in class from kid to kid during free time.  The kid would put my glasses on, and inevitably exclaim something along the lines of “Whoa!  You’re really BLIND!!” as they struggle to make out the laughing face of the next kid who wanted to try the lenses on.

By the time I had gotten into high school, I had begged to get contacts, and, at 14, I started wearing them, thinking that ditching the glasses would mean a one-way ticket to Cool Town.  Well, it didn’t, but I still wear contacts for the most part, and most people wouldn’t have really considered me to have a glasses-wearing past unless I tell them, “Yeah, past a couple of inches beyond my face–can’t see a thing.”

And lately, I’ve been concerned my vision is taking a turn for the worst.  My main culprit for the decline in my vision is the fact I stare at a computer screen for two or more hours pretty much consecutively at a time for work.  While driving and looking for street names, my companion in the seat next to me seems to point out the signs before I do.  Unless it’s Clark without his glasses, and for a moment, I feel a bit better about myself, until I put it into perspective: He’s not wearing contacts, but I am.


Just now, in an effort to make a new recipe called “Chocolate Spice Cookies,” I was at a point where something didn’t seem right.  Sure enough, taking a squintier look at the book, I realise the minuscule fraction next to the “1” and before the word “cups” was not, as I had thought, 1/2, but 1/4.

Damn it.

So, to fix, or at least lessen, my error, I added a bit more butter, more honey (though the recipe called for maple syrup–I cheated) and more cocoa.  The recipe says to “refrigerate until firm,” but I’m impatient.  Also, I’ve already not followed the directions, so I likely won’t be rolling the dough out, as it wants me to, onto floured plastic sheets or plastic wrap.  My parents are out of plastic wrap, by the way.

This whole event goes to show that: 1) I will likely need a stronger prescription for my next set of contacts; and, 2) I really oughtn’t bake in someone else’s kitchen, like my parents’ kitchen, unless I know I have everything I need, not just what’s on the list of ingredients.

I guess now it’s time to plop this dough on a sheet, bake it, and see what happens.


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