Woe is me.
I think I have made a terrible mistake.
A few days ago, Mini Seymour had an optician’s appointment. She’s had a chequered history with the people at Boots. She was originally diagnosed with a suspected squint, astigmatism and short-sightedness (I think, although I can never remember the difference between long and short, and the words get mixed up in my head. Like numbers these days). Mini Seymour was prescribed glasses, and wore them proudly, looking like a wizened old granny as she perched them upon the end of her nose.
Six months later, she was checked again – this time, there were no such problems found. And then, last week, she was given the all-clear.
I am, of course, very grateful for this. Eyes are very important.
Well, it just so happened that in my bag, I had Mini’s glasses. For once, I had remembered them! I usually forget and sit, shame-faced in the chair, averting my eyes and feeling very disorganised as I imagine the optician looking at me disapprovingly; how can I not have read the memo about bringing existing glasses?
So this time, I had them. And, upon the news that Mini is now able to see just fine, I got a little carried away. I dug her little pink glasses out of my bag, and I handed them over to the optician in a magnanimous gesture, accompanied by the words, “Can you recycle these?”
I immediately regretted it as the optician’s face lit up. “Yes,” she grinned, as if glasses are rarely donated in this way. And then I instantly thought, what if I should be keeping them? As a keepsake? To stroke and remember in years to come? To cherish in a box full of mementoes…
But I had handed them over. Asking for them back would have been odd, verging on crazy. In a last ditch attempt at retrieving them, I tried asking Mini Seymour (as I perhaps should have done to start with) if she wanted to keep the glasses – as if I had just realised that she herself may have an emotional attachment to them – as if it wasn’t me at all. But no, she shook her head, apparently unphased by the fact that her little pink glasses were no longer hers. She seemed pleased, in fact.
I could have said no – that I’d changed my mind after all. I could have made up some cock and bull story like, “Oh no! I can’t possibly leave the glasses here actually, because – don’t you remember, Mini? Dolly Susan likes to wear them?” Maybe I could simply have made a last minute grab for the glasses on the desk – stolen them back, if you will. But in the end, in an effort to copy Mini Seymour’s generosity and lack of mentalism, I walked away.
What is wrong with me? I was sad. Her little glasses were now gone, and I would never again be able to stroke them and reminisce.
I gave myself a good talking to in my head. I was not to be ridiculous. The gift of good eyes is far preferable to owing a cute keepsake pair of glasses. I have photos of Mini in her glasses – somewhere. And the optician’s face when she heard the words “Can you recycle these?” was enough to make me suspect that there is an orphanage somewhere that she herself visits biannually, taking with her the tools to help the poor kids see better. That in itself should be enough for me feel I have made the right decision.
I am a bit of a hoarder – especially when it comes to sentimental stuff, and so this glasses thing is a big deal for me. But I am really trying to adopt the mindset that “stuff” is just “stuff”. However much I may hanker after one last fondle of those cute little wire-rimmed spectacles…
Gulp! Do you think it’s too late to change my mind?
0 Comments