All was not well in the dark basement lair this evening. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, in her constant struggle to see the writing of y'all on her ill-placed monitor, overbalanced herself.
I can't move the monitor up to my nose, because the keyboard is in the way. I can't move the monitor back towards the corner of my built-in countertop desk, because my arms aren't long enough to wipe away smudges left by the death throes of an occasional gnat, attracted to the light like a moth to a flame. So I vacillate in the wearing of my old bifocals. I know trifocals are in order. But I already throw my neck out adjusting the elevation of my eyeballs between bifocal and distance lens.
So there I was, having a moment of clarity, pushed back from the keyboard a bit, glasses on top of my head. When words became blurry, I tilted my head back a bit. Have you ever tried that? Without your glasses, you can sometimes see clearer from an angle. Gravity is not my friend. Nor is it on good terms with my head-perched old bifocals. I felt the calamity evolving before the clank, tinkle, skitter.
"PONY! I've broken my glasses! Come turn on the light."
"I think you've done this before. And they don't break. The lens pops out. Aha! Um." He laid the frames on my countertop. "I think maybe this time you've lost BOTH lenses!" He poked his fingers through both wire holes to make a point.
"Great. Watch where you step. They're somewhere right behind me. I heard them bounce. I made sure not to roll my chair back."
"Well, here's ONE." He set it down on a paper towel folded on the counter.
"Thanks for picking the absolute greasiest surface available to lay that lens on."
"Heh, heh. You have to push them in anyway. Then you can clean them."
"Yes. But these tissues have lotion in them."
"Here. Here's a napkin in this pile of stuff."
"Thanks." I tried to put the left lens back in. "It's not going. The right one always pops right back."
"Here. I found the left one. Want me to try?"
"I've got it." The rigth one popped in like a charm. The left...not so much. "Go ahead. But don't break the frame!"
"Hm. This one doesn't want to go. I can get this side, but not the nose part."
"Here. I'll hold them against my heater. Then the frames will expand a little. GREAT! Could you possibly have smudged this lens any MORE?"
"I don't think so. Use the napkin." Off he went, leaving me with an opaque left lens. I finally got it to hold, though it's sure to pop out on the next floor collision. The napkin polished it a bit. It's going to take some grime-cutter to get the grease off, because The Pony came a-runnin' after eating sweet-and-sour chicken by dipping the batter-fried nuggets into the sauce.
I need an old-lady chain on these spectacles. I will wear it in FRONT of my neck while I perch the glasses on my head. No more reconstructive surgery for my specs.