I’m sitting at the granite island in the kitchen at a friend’s house. Munching on fruit and reading a book, I’m pretty content. No one else is around. The others are napping or visiting a neighbor across the street.
The front door opens and my friend’s husband flip-flops in from the muggy heat to the air-conditioned splendor carrying his six-week-old son. He tucks the adorable and sleepy baby into the swing in the living room and walks over to the kitchen, telling me about the visit which included a juice spill by the neighbor’s enthusiastic son.
“I hope this doesn’t gross you out,” he says, running water over a limb in the sink. I glance up from my iPad and try to figure out what he’s talking about in the split second before he finishes his sentence. Why would leaning over the sink washing up gross me out I’m wondering as he ends the declaration with “my leg in the sink.”
I laugh. I explain that if he hadn’t said it was his leg, I might not have realized. Looking at the sink, I perceived a hairy arm looking limb and questioned my visual input about the appendage being a leg. It’s easy to deceive me. He laughed, too.
He turned off the tap and dried his foot then walked over to the couch. I went back to reading as everyone else napped the afternoon away. No harm, no foul, just another moment of living with low vision.