The Proverbial Bat

I've come to the conclusion that I need glasses more or less all the time. Given my forgetfulness, I've decided to plump for contacts. It's all a bit strange, really, but it came to a head when I was getting breakfast the other morning (avocado on toasted wholemeal bagel - a truly glorious breakfast) and I couldn't read any of the wall signs without squinting and they were all a little fuzzy even with very severe scrunching of my eye muscles. Not dignified, good for my crow's feet, or for seeing potential muggers.*

So, here we go. I have to be fitted and given a lesson (seriously - an hour's lesson!), and then I'm going to set reminders in my calendar to change them every two weeks. I'm nervous but actually quite excited; apart from anything else, it means that I'll be able to see the other end of the pitch for my eleven-a-side football. Whether I'll be able to run it is another issue altogether - I played two back-to-back yesterday and my knee is not right, unsurprisingly.** It's just reached a plateau that means back to the doctor I go because, apart from anything, TOH is still convinced I can get better. That's based on all his years of medical training, obviously - and his eternal and gloriously sunny optimism which is a wonderful tonic for my naturally rather morose reactions to this sort of thing.

* I occasionally get (nonsensically) panicked about being attacked and going through one of those courtroom cross-examinations where the defence lawyer picks apart the fact that I can't really see that far. Yes, I'm paranoid; contacts should at least assuage that a teeny bit. Note that I do not get panicked about actually being mugged.

** Also not right: my back, shoulders, glutes, ribs, my left ankle which got one hell of a kick from an opposing player yesterday. Also injured: my pride and dignity after I had a real shocker upfront - from the sublime(ish) the week before (a reasonably well-taken goal) to the ridiculously awful.