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.
