“Have you adjusted to the new glasses?” asked the optician.
“No, I haven’t. Look at me! I am a wreck.”
“You may be a wreck, but it is not the glasses. They are perfect. Have you gotten compliments? They are much nicer than your old glasses.”
“I can’t SEE! I am falling down stairs and I ran into a cabinet that was being moved. …”
“¡Buaf! You are certainly not trying hard enough. What don’t you want to see in your life?”
I twitched. My bruises were throbbing, and the egg on my forehead from the collision with the cabinet seemed to get even more purple in indignation. My mouth opened to say something nasty besides “YOU!” I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so I let the air whistle into my mouth, and I turned and walked out the door and down to another less impressive-looking optician’s.