The Dangers of Female Opticians

The Dangers of Female Opticians

So, before I went in, I had made my mind up. I wanted the cheapest frames. I did not

want UV protection, strengthened lens with scratch resistance, variable tints etc. I

wanted something which would allow me to see and have enough change out of £100

to get a Chinese Takeaway on the way home and perhaps a refreshing adult beverage

as well.

As it happens, the room was dark, she was as pretty as a picture and looked about

eighteen. I read the chart and was told that I did “very well”. When she got up close to

examine my eyes, she smelled like heaven and strawberry shortcake, and most of all

she laughed at my jokes. After it was over, she laid her hand gently on my shoulder

and led me to the rows of glasses.

“A mature man like you needs designer frames. They will make you look more

distinguished than you already are!”

What had earlier been rows and rows of spectacles was now a veritable Alladin’s

Cave. There were all shapes and sizes and colours. They taunted me with their

sexiness.

“Take me! Feel Me! Wear Me!”

I touched some, caressed others, got very close and personal with some more. I

wanted them all. There. Then!

OK so I am shallow and now £232 lighter! Who needs Chinese Takeaways and a

bottle of Hungarian Red when you are in love!