Life Through A Lens

My wife and I were in Specsavers on Friday, tasked with the simple job of picking a pair of glasses each for reading. It’s an age thing.

She handed me a pair of round ones to try on.

Jen: “You look like John Lennon. Or that other one.”

Me: “McCartney?”

Jen: “Harry Potter. Try these.” She handed me a pair of black rimmed ones. I put them on.

Me: (Singing) “We-a-hell, the little things you say and do . . . ”

Jen: “Well?”

Me: ” . . . make me want to be with you-ah-ou . . . ”

Jen: “Do you like them?!”

Me: “Rave on, it’s a crazy feeling and . . . ”

Jen: “Do you like them or not?”

Me: “I know, it’s got me reeling . . . ”

Jen: “Yes or no?”

Me: “No. I told you I didn’t want any strong-rimmed ones. Do you know why I was singing that?”

Jen: “Yes, it’s Chuck Berry,”

Me: “It’s Buddy Holly!”

Jen: “I meant him.” I took them off, she handed me another pair.

Jen: “Try these. They’re green.”

Me: (Without looking at them.) “Put them back.”

Jen: “You’ve not even tried them.”

Me: “I’m not wearing green glasses.”

Jen: “Well what about these?”

Me: “I look like Dame Edna Everage.”

Jen: “You don’t!”

Me: “I don’t want glasses with sparkly bits on them.”

Jen: “They’re not sparkly.”

Me: “They’re like Elton John’s in his Rocket Man days.”

Jen: “Right! I’ll pick mine first then.” She put a pair on.

Jen: “What about these?”

Me. “Let’s see. Nah, I don’t like them.”

Jen: “What do you bleeding know about glasses anyway?!”

Can’t wait until we qualify for dentures.