A Second Opinion is vital...

I have four or five pairs of glasses on the go. They cost five quid a pop so that if I sit on any of them there is no howl of anguish, just a cheap-sounding crunch which may or may not result in actual breakage. Sometimes it's a case of bendage which means that in private, at least, I can go round looking as though I am as drunk as a skunk.
My eyes have improved over the years, in so far as I can read number plates that are a quarter of a mile away, but of course, the price of having supersonic distance vision is that I need readers to thread a needle (not often) or study the calorific content on the packet of a malingering Stollen (more often). I no longer have the guilty pleasure, however, of going to the opticians to chose a pair of image-enhancing glasses.
So when Dearest had an eye-check back in October which indicated a change of lens was required, we knew that we had to go to the opticians to change his frames. Somehow we never made it  before Christmas and now  it seemed almost a dereliction of duty, not to make sure he had the most recent prescription. So on Saturday we determined to sort him out. He tried on a number of pairs. Some, nice as they were, looked no different to the ones he'd been wearing for the past three years. Then he put on a pair, and I knew that they were the ones. He took them off almost immediately.
"Too Harry Potter," he said.
I put them back on him.
"I think you look cute and a little quirky," I said.
"Cute?" he responded. "Cute?"
You can always tell when someone has never been called cute before.
The optician returned.
"Oh, they look good on you," she said.
He thought he could live with quirky and you could tell he was getting restless. Apart from which he couldn't see a bloody thing because he was blind without lenses.
Which means that next Saturday he finally gets to see the choice we have made, and we hope that he likes his new image.
Burning question of the moment is: will new lenses cure marital blindness?
Probably not.

Here's Looking at you, Kid