I can’t remember the exact date I was told I needed to wear glasses. It was probably sometime during the early 90’s.
I can remember the awful sinking feeling … chuffing geeky glasses. I was destined to live out the rest of my life looking like bloody Deirdre Barlow!
The eye test that determined I needed help in itself was weird. Not weird in a bad way but just weird all the same and something I doubt I’ll ever forget!
My optician at the time also happened to be my mums. He had come highly recommended by her .
Mum reassured me he was lovely adding ‘and he’s also rather handsome Tracey’ I was young and things like that they mattered … what can I say I’d rather have some good looking young man examine my eyes over some old fuddy duddy any day.
What she didn’t forewarn me about was how close ‘Mr Handsome’ got to you while he was examining your peepers.
It was verging on uncomfortable.
Lots of his hot breath on my cheeks. Mr Handsome with his shiny little ‘torch tool’ encroaching on my space, poking around and in my eyes. His face almost touching mine ; it felt like I might suffocate.
Thoughts running through my head at the time included –
- Could he see up my nose ?
- My pores must look massive?
- Please don’t wipe my eyebrows off!
- I’m gonna kill mum!
* * * * * * * *
Luckily times have changed for the better and things have progressed. A lot.
Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago where I had an appointment booked with the lovely guys at Cross Eyes.