I'm not exactly a committed glasses wearer. Without them I'm fully blind, but usually that suits me just fine. I see no-one I know on the street, spiders are black smudges and my reflection looks great no matter how bad I actually look. There is a downside, of course. Missed buses, having to pretend you can see things that people point out and that very attractive squinty look that is now my trademark. Eventually I have to concede and bite the bullet to replace the glasses that I'll inevitably lose again within three weeks.
So.
Off I trot to a well known opticians who promise me the world via their hard-to-miss (even for the visually impaired) adverts. It's been a while, so I am totally unprepared for the hard sell that hits me in the face the moment my appointment is confirmed. They have a crack team of ninjas who come at you from every angle, offering different frames, lenses that would work in space (or something) and blinding me with the science of eyewear. Before I know it, I'm back on the street outside the shop, dazed and confused, having spent a fortune on fecking glasses and not quite sure how.
I don't need designer glasses. I wanted a 50p pair that I can happily lose and not give a rat's. If I'm going brand name, at least let it be something that people can admire: great shoes, a fancy guna or even a lipstick for God's sake.
So.
Not being brave enough to confront the ninjas when I awoke from my coma, I did it all over the phone. 50p glasses on the way, sanity restored. Kind of. I'm off to get something fancy with the money I recovered....
