Friday, 2 February 2018

Shouldn't have gone to Specsavers

I need glasses, apparently. This is interesting news, although not completely unforeseen. It may well be a hereditary thing - or, as my sister so eloquently put it while indicating my parents, herself, and me, "glasses... glasses... glasses... fucked."

It's not the first time I've worn glasses. I used to wear them for reading when I was 16. Diagnosed with long-sightedness just before GCSE season, I was asked to identify a free pair of spectacles to wear and immediately chose the biggest, roundest, nerdiest pair of glasses I could find, rocking up at school the following week looking like Harry Potter and getting a mixture of stares from fellow students and compliments from my Maths teacher. And I had something else to discuss with Einstein, of course, who also wore glasses (and still does; I swear they are the same pair of specs he had when he was 16 himself).

So today I went to see the optician, although it wasn't the sexy one with all the touching I usually see, she was brisk and efficient, and ended up telling me that the chalazion I had before 'con last year was a result of dry eyelids, I should buy special wipes to help my eyelashes recover from loose skin, and that I shouldn't hold my breath while she's preparing to blow air into my eyes (although I didn't realise I was doing the last one. I also hold my breath when the hairdresser washes my hair, as if I'm laying my head on the block or something.). I also have mild astigmatism, so I need to get glasses.

I don't really mind this - I think glasses are seriously sexy. A lot of people I've fancied have worn them, three out of four girlfriends have been bespectacled (and some of the best sex I've ever had has been with them still wearing their glasses and nothing else, and I even volunteered to fix a broken pair belonging to the girl with whom I wanted to have sex during a badminton session. (I removed my white poppy and tightened the screws with the pin - it worked perfectly. A very angry, horny friend who was both very angry and horny then assumed I had a crush on her, called her ugly, and told me to get my eyes tested. Well, I have now done so - what now, fucker?)

Of course, I'll never find myself particularly attractive. But I browsed the £25 range for a pair that doesn't make me look absolutely appalling... and I picked one. More traditional soft squares in a thick plastic frame (in black - the frame, not the lenses). At worst, they'll make me look like Gregg Wallace. At best, they'll make me look like Marcus Brigstocke. More likely, though, I'll look like myself. With glasses on. I'm sure I can cope with that.

Now to sort out the rest of my body...

No comments: