Blind Side

Since last week I have had some serious weed. I don’t usually feel ‘stoned’ but on this I do, like off my head stoned. It’s not the sort of weed you can hammer in the way I am accustomed, so actually I have been a basket case , completely manic and irrational, resulting in rash decisions that haven’t really served me too well.

Yesterday evening, as I was hurrying up the High Road on a mission, I went past Mr Peter’s Opticians and, as he was standing in the doorway, I hopped in and said I really could do with an eye test. I was informed that I could have one straight away, so I thought, ‘Why not?’ – I am finding it increasingly difficult to read the small print (and not so small print) on packaging generally, which makes shopping a pain in the arse and although I have a hideous off-the-shelf pair, I wouldn’t be seen dead in them.

I found a pair of frames that I liked and requested rose tinted lenses, anti-glare and anti-scratch and, while we were at it, he thought varifocals would be a good idea – which they really would not seeing as I don’t intend to keep the glasses on my face except for reading. Mr Peters totted it all up and presented me with a bill for £505 (including the £25 eye test) and without a second thought, I took out my debit card, paid in full, and skipped off out of the shop, one happy customer.

When I mentioned it to Honey in passing that I had spent £500 on a pair of glasses, his face was one of total disbelief and I actually had to show him the receipt to prove it! It was only when he pointed out that it was a ridiculous amount of money that could be better spent elsewhere, did it hit me that I may have been a little hasty and then as the evening wore on I became more and more anxious. I then had a completely sleepless night, waiting for 9 a.m. when I could tell Mr Peters that I had been slightly impulsive and that actually all I really need is a pair of reading glasses, fuck the varifocals, fuck the pink tint.

I hopped out of bed in time to get to his shop for the dot of 9.00. ‘Oh, Mr Peters,’ I said, ‘I’ve been thinking about you all night, I could not sleep a wink … I’ve changed my mind.’ He duly refunded me £200, which made me feel a lot, lot better – still pricey perhaps but at least considered.

** I’m mashed, sorry **

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