Panel 1: Having noticed Elizabeth waving her hands in the air as if she were dizzy, Mike asks her what she's doing. She answers him by saying that everything looks different now.
This is probably supposed to clue him into the fact that adjusting to seeing properly is such a sea change in her life, she can't find her bearings but we know how good he is at seeing the blazing freaking obvious. He's as good as his idiot mother.
Panel 2: When she tells him that stairs aren't where she thinks they are and that she keeps bumping into things, Mike rolls his eyes in disbelief and mutters "Oh, sure."
This is, of course, because Mike has no idea what it's like for the world to shift focus and lacks the decency and curiosity to ask someone he knows with corrective lenses to quit having hormone attacks and tell him what it was like when he first started wearing them.
Panel 3: She also says that she notices things that she never did before. Since Mike's mind's eye is blind, he can't imagine what would look different and asks "Yeah? What?"
Panel 4: When she says "how big your nose actually is," he's gobsmacked.
This is because he's forgotten that he's destined to end up with a nose en route to becoming a trunk like his maternal grandfather, mother and maternal uncle.
Summary: Since Mike and Elly think along the same lines and have the same distinct trouble understanding other people's points of view, it follows that when the day comes that he is forced to wear bifocals, he will assume that he alone in all of recorded history had to deal with how disorienting that is and will dismiss anecdotal evidence from others owing to another belief he shares with his dirt-ordinary mother: the idea that he is somehow a special little snowflake instead of the same decaying organic matter as his fellows.