The good news is that since my last eye test two years ago my eyes haven't deteriorated at all. Hoorah!
From my optician's point of view, the more cheering and lucrative news is that I'm going to buy a new pair of glasses anyway.
I'm only slightly concerned that he kept steering me towards 'elegant' and 'smart' frames. (Wearing which an elderly stereotypical matronly-secretarial-librarian stares back at me*.) He's thinking sensible. (God preserve me from sensible!) I'm thinking 'hip' and Hoxton. I'm thinking 'Crikey. I might live at the end of a mountain in Wales (just) and spend my days ministering to hens, pulling out weeds and watering tomatoes but that doesn't mean I can't wear something vibrant and natty.....after all my husband has just bought me a bracelet, which in his words I could 'wear to feed the hens in'. (Have to admit that does mystify me a bit. Bit de trop perhaps?) Humph.
I try on most things in the shop. Metal, plastic. Rounded. Square. Colours, blacks, whites, silver, gold. Bi-colour, duo-tone - whatever - that's the thing. We do Ted Baker and D&G and a gamut of other fashionable names. I am surrounded by frames. They litter every surface; plastic and titanium twisted and entwined, phoney glass lenses besmirched with finger-smears managing a feeble glint. I cannot remember which I like and which I do not like. A demented woman stares back out of the mirror, hair wild and tumbling. It is me. Pretty soon, I think, Mr Optician will be opening his box of glasses for batty women with Very Special Needs.....or politely but firmly ushering me out onto the street.
So I choose the ones I liked first of all. They are green and wiry, kind of wrap-around, kind of rimless too. Fairly cool. I do hope I'm not to old to say that.
I think they meet my criteria. We'll have to wait and see what the hens think.
*I mean absolutely no offense whatsoever to matrons, librarians or secretaries...some of my best friends are.......STOP. Digging. The. Hole. Even. Deeper....)