Two years ago, I treated myself to some Expensive Designer Spectacles. They weren't very expensive, I just wrote that to attract your attention; they were just a bit more than the cheapest ones. I thought I was it when I wore them!
'Mad Men', said people and I swanked about, tilting my head this way and that so people could admire the view.
I did suspect, however, that they were a mite fragile, and kicking about in the bottom of my work bag might not be a suitable existence for them, so they became my pose-at-home pair. Very few people ever saw me in them, really: but I could still stand in front of the mirror tilting my head this way and that, admiring the view of myself, by myself.
I bought cheap Eric Morecambes to use everywhere else in the Universe that I go.
Alas, one of the arms of the posh ones fell off the other day (is that what they are called? ear-arms?), even though they are remarkable spoiled for a pair of specs, and I took them to the opticians to get fixed.
'Out of guarantee', said the new girl, triumphantly, 'you'll have to buy a new pair'.
WHAT! I pulled my body to its maximum angry middle-aged-lady extent and looked at her over my... oh no, I didn't have them on. But you know what I mean.
Blithely she continued, 'The problem is that when you've been taking the off you've only been pulling them off with one hand. You should've been taking them off holding both sides'.
Well, nobody told me this when I bought them. Was I being accused of maltreating my glasses?
Later, wearing me Eric Morecambes, which cost £25 and which I have been pulling off with one hand many times an hour for approximately two years now without any adverse effect, I made the decision never to attempt to spoil myself by paying too much money for a pair of flimsy fashion statements again.
I can't pose in the Eric Morecambes because I look like a prat who wears functional spectacles because she breaks the posh ones. But that's me, isn't it?