Mrs Magoo goes to the opticians

I was summoned to the opticians for the annual contact lens check the other day. The usual optician was on holiday, so I was seen by a nice young chap who looked a bit like Robert The Bruce, and a glamorous trainee with very cold hands. I don’t know if there was a note on my file saying Here Comes Trouble, but in a startling display of foresight as I entered the room, nice young chap took one look at my giant handbag and put it where I couldn’t trip over it once stripped of my lenses later on.

He turned out to have a good belter of a voice, and with my newly-restored mid frequencies, I reflected that this would be the first time I would be able to hear an optician clearly in the dark. After the usual scintillating rundown of my contact lens wearing habits, the eyechart came out and the big silly glasses appeared. I think nice young chap must have had a bad experience with a hearing instrument on a customer in the past, because rather than ceremonially placing the silly glasses on my nose in the time-honoured fashion, he made a furtive adjustment and handed them to me to put on myself, instead.

After confirming with the chart that I am still extremely short-sighted, it was time for me to noisily pull the hearing aid out with the leg of the silly glasses, before removing the contact lenses for the orange dye in the eye bit. The lights went out, and once nice young chap and the glamorous trainee were satisfied that they had totally blinded me with the slit lamp, and flipped my eyelids inside out several times in the manner of a bike mechanic levering a tyre off, I was invited to re-acquaint myself with my lenses. From the chair, I screwed up my eyes to locate the sink where they were sitting before lunging purposefully at the spot.

“There’s some lens solution on there if you want it,” said Robert The Bruce helpfully as he wrote up the notes. “Ah, yes,” I affirmed confidently as I hurriedly tried to fish the first dropped lens out of the sink. Bent double over the worktop, under the unrelenting stare of the glamorous trainee, I screwed up my eyes to pinholes and identified several potential bottle shapes. After picking up the Aloe Vera moisturiser followed by an antibacterial handwash, I sensibly gave up and asked for assistance.

With the corneas given a clean bill of health and vision fully restored, I went off to do a nice spot of shopping, sporting a pair of fetching orange-rimmed eyes.

1 Response to “Mrs Magoo goes to the opticians”

  1. 1 kentigern July 26, 2010 at 3:29 pm

    Myopia is us …..

    Hope we weren’t too awful on Friday, stupididty old men and boyhood, combusted with bevvy.

    Have you plans to see Dr Pauline?????

    Luv bruv

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