I am an understanding and sympathetic man.
Should however, I come across any old classmates of mine squinting at items in the supermarket and holding them at arms length in the vain hope of being able to read the ingredients, then I will have the following appropriate response;
for you were the ones who derided me in school as "goggle eyes" and "four eyes".
The absolute wonder of being myopic is that I can still read the fine print unassisted.
One person for whom I must necessarily have empathy is Mrs GOF. She has reached a certain age where I have become a useful object to have around to decipher the tiny and the miniscule.
I am obviously unreliable, for I have been partially replaced by the collection illustrated above.
This is only her "living room collection". There are others that I know of residing in the bedroom and the car, and, I suspect, even though I have neither the inclination or right to excavate there, in her handbag.
I also have evidence that somewhere under this roof is an Optical Appliance Infirmary, accommodating everything she has sat on, stood upon or otherwise irreparably damaged.
Now I admit to having 3 pairs of glasses, for long distance, computer reading, and for reading music.
Why on earth does one human being require so many glasses?
I have no idea, and certainly no intention of asking, for I know that it will be an invitation to a lengthy dissertation on the origin, history, purpose and likely fate of every single one in the collection.
Mrs GOF, whilst having no shortage of glasses, has an even lesser shortage of words and explanations.
Perhaps she is some sort of spectacular visionary well beyond the understanding of a simple man.