Have you been out today?

The heavily pregnant optometrist asks how she can help.

I tell her that my new spectacles (obtained just before Christmas and of a bolder design than their long-serving predecessors) are hurting my nose and ask if there is any adjustment she can make to alleviate this. She tells me to take a seat, so I do. Then she gently takes hold of the arms of my glasses and wiggles them about a bit to ascertain what the problem might be. In doing so, the heavily pregnant optometrist has placed her chest exactly on my eye level and in closer proximity than is usual in the day to day social interaction of strangers. I glance sideways to avert my gaze and see, clipped to her lapel, a fountain pen with a familiar white star motif on the end of the cap. Blimey, it's only a Montblanc! I wonder if it's a Meistertuck 149 (with an 18ct gold nib) like Mattias Adolfsson used to use (though I believe he now favours a Namiki Falcon). I wonder if I asked nicely if the heavily pregnant optometrist would let me have a go on it. I am staring at the pen. The pen is clipped to her lapel. The lapel, as lapels will, resides in a place close to her chest...

To all intents and purposes I am now staring at one of the heavily pregnant optometrist's breasts. Furthermore, in the presence of such a writing instrument, my expression might very well be one of intense desire.

The heavily pregnant optometrist removes my spectacles and takes them into the mysterious Back Room where she uses unseen Special Equipment that makes a low humming noise to fractionally change the shape of one arm of my frames. She returns, replaces the glasses, wiggles them about a bit more and is satisfied.

"They were pulling a little on this side." She indicates my left ear. "They should be fine now."