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February 08, 2005
I don't know about anyone else, but I've always found going to the optician to be a little strange. In some ways, I prefer the dentist, as at least there it's a straight forward scenario. You know exactly what's expected, and can just open your mouth and then drift off to a place full of sunshine and chocolate and small fluffy kittens, whilst a man pokes what looks like that weird thing at the back of the cutlery drawer (which nobody can remember buying and nobody knows what it does) around your mouth. That I can handle.
However, the optician is slightly different. Coming out of the optician's kind of feels like the conclusion to some weird one night stand. You and this man you hardly know go together into a tiny dark room with a big leather chair and lots of random equipment and then within a matter of minutes their face is so close to yours that your cheeks have touched and they're staring deep into your eyes. (I'm not even going to talk about the fact that he then turned my upper eyelids inside out as even now this makes me feel really queasy, and I'm not sure quite how that would fit into my theory). After fifteen minutes murmuring 'a or b' into my ear, and then more cheek touching, it feels as if we've created some odd intimate relationship together. And the fact that you then pay him when you've finished just complicates the issue even more.
On the upside, I now have some new soft contact lenses! Hurrah for vanity, and all the weird things we are prepared to do in its name.
(Also, whilst we're on hurrahs, hurrah for reading week and the rediscovery of my blog! Now all my friends are miles away I have to result once again to virtual rambling…)