Horace was all of ninety-four. He’d had the same pair of spectacles for thirty-two years. He thought he should get his eyes checked again. He was starting to have trouble reading the small print.
“I don’t want to die an early death by not being able to read the harmful sodium percentage on food packaging,” said Horace.
He made an appointment with an optician. The optician was nice enough, but she was very brusque.
“I haven’t got time to mess around,” she said. “Would you mind taking off your glasses.”
“I haven’t had anyone ask me to take something off in years,” said Horace.
The optician laughed. After that she wasn’t half so brusque.