Your eyesight wasn't exactly superb; you could see, sure, but you're near-sighted. So, you booked an eye appointment because holy shit.

John, your husband, decided to tag along. Emotional support, one could say.

"Can you read the letters on the fourth row?" The optometrist asked, referring to the tiny letters projected.

"..Is that a K?" You asked with a slight bit of hesitance.

It was an R. John snickered, placing his hand over his mouth.

"Holy hell, you're blinder than I thought."