As my prescription has only grown trickier over the years to implement, the shop is requiring a full week in which to properly grind my lenses. I pick up two pairs of glasses on Monday or Tuesday. One is urban black, a witchy thing with a cocktail edge, and the other is shiny fushsia, thin rimmed with a corporate glitter. Both are sweet discoveries and welcome. I hope to throw out a lot of collected things which I have no more use for. Clothing what doesn’t fit anymore mostly, either my shape or personality. Time to go sleek, velvet catch up breath and jewel-tone with a touch of pinstripe.
Ray’s reaction: Hooray! Now we can go to movies that have poorly executed subtitles! On the other hand, I will no longer have even the slightest chance of convincing you that there is picture of Elvis on the wall of the Madame Butterfly set…
My defense is only that it was a dress rehearsal. It is a poor blind to hide behind, (excuse the pun), when seen against the sheer volume of times that I have followed along a ridiculous trail with seriousness when I really should have given the source a pinch. I can only blame the fact that I’m rather trusting.