And I still can’t shoot lasers from them…

So I’ve worn glasses since I was about ten, my parents noticing me scrunching my face up in an attempt to focus on, well, almost anything. There is surely nothing more attractive than a pudgy pre-pubescent kid trying to make his face implode and pushing that imploded face RIGHT up to yours so he can see you better. Back off, kid, you’re creeping me out. I had a lovely collection of plastic NHS frames and, when I went to high school, graduated up to some highly alluring steel aviators. Step up, ladies, it’s all for sale. And I broke them, a lot, adding the requisite tape and glue as I went along. Are you getting a picture yet? Teenage years brought daily disposable lenses and many thrilling hours of poking myself in the eye in the mirror. Daily disposables certainly allowed me to avoid the rigmarole of cleaning and storing, but they were essentially made of cling film and not really designed to be handed by a ham fisted teenager. So I stuck to specs, wearing lenses only on occasion, mainly when I want to wear sunglasses. Earlier this year I was out in the UAE and Sean suggested laser surgery to me. I was less than convinced, as I firmly believe that something will go horribly wrong and I’ll end up looking like this guy. But he was insistent. He’d had it done, his wife has had it done. And I’d be all up for “Maybe I should discuss this with a doctor…”, except he IS a bloody doctor. And he’s not even going &...
Source: Trauma Queen - Category: Ambulance Crew Authors: Tags: Journal Source Type: blogs