My mouth was dry and my fingers were trembling as I collected my new glasses today. Metallic-red, narrow-framed and just as sexy as I'd remembered. I slid them on, and surveyed myself in the mirror: Marilyn Monroe pouted right back. I licked my lips, tousled my hair and sashayed onto Falmouth High Street.
I pouted and preened and perfected my Wiggle. I swaggered. I flirted. I fluttered my lashes. I peeked and peeped and tossed back my hair. Thirty-seven young men panted in my wake. (Look - this is my fantasy: I'll self-delude if I want to, okay?)
The World was mine 'till my swagger turned to stagger and I swayed and I wobbled. I went blurry at the edges and lunch began to bubble at the back of my throat.
"I'm ill!" I cried, head tilted and the back of my hand firmly placed upon my strangely cool brow. "Those shops are zooming into focus and fading back out. Into focus and fading ... and ohmygod! Woolworths has completely disappeared ..."
I lurched back to Specsavers: "These glasses are making me sick!"
"Your prescription has changed, Madam. Give your eyes a few days to get used to the new lenses."
I knew it was too good to be true. Instead of 'sex-kitten', I'm more 'amputated leg, been shot in one eye, addicted to vodka' kitten.
I can feel another tantrum coming on...
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