Mine were blue, plastic, round, humiliating, but most importantly at the time – free.
My classic children’s NHS specs (available in blue or pink – I was not the girly, princess, type) and worn for an entire week when a doctor decided my eyes must be responsible for my headaches.
It turned out, after about five minutes, that is was actually my snivelling, allergy pounded, sinuses to blame for my continual migraines – so my perfect eyesight remained unsullied to intervention until right now.
Because age, apparently, has caught up with me as the somewhat gleeful optician confirmed.
Yep I need glasses.
So after issuing me with the weakest prescription known to womankind (+0.5) I was sent like a lost child into the realm of the glasses showroom to pick myself some specs.
Still reeling from the news that I was no longer the only member of my family with optical needs (it was a source of pride) I stared blankly at walls of glasses, before trying every single pair on in a sort of desperate rush.
I persuaded myself this was just shopping – after all, one of my favourite things to do .
But there is no getting round the fact that I look terrible in glasses.
My vanity simply could not take it.
I looked awful.
But, I needed the specs for driving and gazing wistfully into the distance – so round the shop I went again, with the optician assistant teetering under the weight of discarded ‘possibles’ two steps behind me.
About then, I started looking at prices.
Now if being forced to make a fashion choice was not bad enough, paying more than I paid for a week’s holiday was appalling.
After eventually plumping for a pair out of desperation, I then had to do it all again to get my half price prescription sunglasses.
Luckily these, I love.
But I can see clearly now the money has left my account – exactly how lucky I was before.
And my new specs?
Pink of course.
I may have become a princess after all.