I am shortsighted and deaf. The other night I yelled upstairs to herself to come down to dinner (the dinner gong, an idea whose time has come) and, according to her brothers, she said that she was coming. Did I hear her? I did not. “I’m so deaf,” I sighed. “You’re not deaf, mother,” said Michael patting my arm comfortingly, “you’re just hard of hearing.” So I was at the doctor for a check up and asked her to check whether my ears perhaps needed syringing (something that is very effective for my 92 year old father). She peered into my ear and said, “I have never seen a cleaner eardrum.” There’s a humble brag for you. Anyhow, she said I could go to the opticians for a free hearing test. For what it’s worth, she said that she thought my hearing seemed fine. And it is, I suppose, just, like my eyesight, not as good as it once was.
*I already wear the bottom of my trousers rolled. Your point?
