An Open Letter To My Spectacles

Dear Spectacles,

I’m giving you fair warning here: I’ve had enough. Enough of your silly games. Enough of listening to you snicker as I stumble blindly around the house trying to find you after you’ve hidden yourselves away for the infinity-umpteenth time (borrowed that locution from my granddaughter who, when she was four, learned about the concept of infinity from her mother. Subsequently, when asked to do something she didn’t want to, she announced that the chances of her obeying the (sometimes direct) order were “infinity zero.”)

I’m sick and tired of breaking my little toes with that maneuver where four toes go on one side of the chair leg (which I can’t see) and my little toe goes on the other, and — Crack! Ouch! Just sick of it, understand? (By the way, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer about the last bloody occurrence, which took place not long ago. I’ve already sent him the photographic evidence. Watch this space.)

I know you think it’s hilarious that I can’t find my glasses because I can’t see, and that I can’t see because I can’t find my glasses. And so on. But, I’m telling you, it’s not funny. (I mean, really. Does that gentleman in the painting look the least bit amused? I think not.)

So, I’m happy to announce today, that, finally, the jig is up!

I’ve discovered Tile. You know, the little square whatnots you can put on a keychain, or which you can stick to important things (like your wallet, and presumably your pets, your spouse or your children). Then, bingo, you run the Tile App on your iPad, and doodle doodle doodle, the tile sings out and tells you where your ‘precious’ is.

I bought four Tiles last month. Replaced the one on my keychain. Gave one away. So I have two left.

What’s better than one Tile to help you find your glasses? Two Tiles to help you find your glasses! So I’ve affixed them to you firmly, and I think I’ve solved the problem. Next time you try your pathetic little ploy, I’ll be ready.

Now, if only I could see to find my iPad.

Best to you, now your fun is over,

Love,

RWKJ.  With a capital “Right.”