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You probably can't tell this by looking at me, but I wear contact lenses. Yes, I thought you'd be surprised. Anyway, this morning I had an annual check-up. I don't know about you, but I just love the idea of a female optometrist turning down the lights and then moving her head very close to mine before fiddling around with my eye-lid. I love it so much in fact that if I could have a monthly check-up I almost certainly would. 

Nothing has or would ever happen of course. I am far too scared of being done for sexual harassment and they are far too professional for anything to happen. They just think about it. Or so I thought. You see, this morning something did happen. Something totally unprofessional. 

First I was asked the usual question, 'How long do you wear your contacts for each day?' to which I gave the usual lie, 'Ten maximum'. She says, 'That's very good, you'll be amazed how many people keep them in for sixteen hours,' and I laugh and I shake my head in mock disbelief. 'Amazing,' I add to make sure she understands that I really look after my eyes. And she says, 'It's true'. I say, 'Amazing,' again. 

So then she tells me she is going to look inside my eyes to which I try very hard not to make a stupid comment. I succeed. The lights go down and she slides over to me on her chair. Then she's there, in my face, shining a torch into my right eye and telling me to look right and left and up to the celling and down to the ground. Only I can't see down to the ground as she is very close to me and although it's dark I can only assume I am probably looking at her cleavage. She tells me to look up and blink. 

Then she starts focusing on my left eye but this means she has to lean over me slightly. And then it happens! She makes her move. She puts her hand on my bicep. The optometrist has got her hand on my bicep! All of a sudden my eyes go to my right. 'Keep looking at the torch,' she says, as if everything is normal. I try and focus on the light but her hand isn't moving. Doesn't she know? Doesn't she know that is not the arm rest? She must know. She MUST know. Does she want me to tense it? I weigh up my options. But before I come to a definitive conclusion it's all over. The lights are back on and her clasp on my bicep has been released. 'Your eyes have weakened a bit so we'll up the strength of your prescription,' she says, fully focused on her computer screen. 'Okay, thanks,' I reply, wondering if I have just imagined the whole thing. 

She opens the door and shows me out. She says she hopes to see me again and I say, 'You too.' And then I walk out of the store and I look at my new strength contact lenses and I feel my bicep. Then it hits me. That is exactly why I don't go to Specsavers.

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  1. The optometrist's chart is brilliant Jon. Now you should go out and try to meet a lady.

  2. With an optometrist's chart? I don't think that's a good idea.

  3. It felt good xxx

  4. Her name was not Rebecca. She was wearing a name badge. You must have been squeezing someone else's muscular arm.