I was cleaning my glasses just like I always do - not often enough but just often enough that I could at least peer out at the world and see a little when....snap... oh-oh.
That was the bad news. Broken where they couldn't be fixed. But you know what, it was okay, because I've always pretty much hated these glasses. They're heavy and thick and ugly. I've been going to the same optometrist for.....wait for it.....46 years! I started with him right after I got out of high school and have been with him ever since. He's awesome. However, a couple of years ago he sold his practice to a large group - Midwest Eye Consultants - and I haven't liked anything - at all- about them yet. The person who helped me pick out the frames seemed catty and bitchy to me and he was proud of it, they were delivered over a week later than promised, they were inordinately expensive and I never felt like I could see properly with them. (I usually removed them to read.) So... I hated that I broke them but I didn't hate it completely if you know what I mean.I dug out my old ones which I liked a lot better but you'd never guess it by the way I've disrespected them. I think on a long road trip once I brought them with me as back up but didn't put them in a case. That's how I got all these abrasions on the left lens.
And at work one day, out on my route, I opened a heavy door without paying attention and scratched the right lens almost all the way across the top.
But still. They'd do. And really? I like them better - with all their faults - then the newer ones.Shortly after this mishap, I walked outside and looked at the small pond with last year's babies in it and saw a pretty little guy caught in the net and hanging head down. He was still in the water but it didn't look good. If I hadn't been so sure he was dead and so worried about him living if he wasn't, I would have taken a picture. I grabbed some scissors, cut the net very carefully, and he swam away like a shot. What a relief! And, what next. That's two.
My daughter, Amy, called. She has strep throat. There you go. Three unhappy occurrences right in a row. Once again the old adage proved itself true. Everything happens in threes.
Then Beth called. "I think I broke my toe".
See everything does not happen in threes - sometimes they happen in fours.
