Mrs Woog visits the Optimistic Optometrist


When I was born, I came into the world with one eye that was able to look straight ahead, and one eye that could not look anywhere else but the tip of my nose.

Yes, I had Amblyopia, also known as LAZY EYE. About 5% of us are born with it. As soon as it was possible, I wore glasses with a patch over my good eye, so that my lazy eye had no choice but to look straight. Mum tells me that even as a toddler, I would wake up and put my glasses on. Because otherwise the simple task of seeing would not be possible.

Four Eyes.

Boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.

Yes, I had heard them all. Well, mainly just those two.

Occasionally we would make the trip into the big smoke to see a Specialist in Macquarie Street where he would test me and tell everyone that there was no improvement. Eventually surgery was suggested.

I was so frightened at the thought, that my eye straightened itself almost immediately. The Specialist called it a miracle. I was just relieved that no motherfucker was coming at my eyeball with a scalpel.

With time and the ageing process under my belt, I have had to revert back to wearing glasses. I lose them once a day, which drives me spare. Anyway, these glasses are not cutting the mustard and so I needed to go to the optometrist to get a new script. Which I did yesterday.

I went to SpecSavers for no articular reason. Maybe subliminally, Alex Perry was telling me to do so. Anyway, times have changed since my Macquarie Street days. It was bright, shiny and very technologically advanced.  And it was here that I met Winston.

Winston is an optometrist and perhaps the happiest man I have ever met.

Winston led me through a series of tests, the most memorable one involving a puff of air being blown into my eyeball. He got me lined up and them counted down before PUFF/BLINK.





I could not help myself. I could not keep my eye open while Winston puffed air into it. It was complete torture.

I told Winston perhaps we should stop counting down. Add the element of surprise and all that. So we tried.







Eventually I used my hands to force my lids over, and we got the shot, so to speak. He also took a photo of my eyeball. As he showed me this, I screeched….

“IS THAT A ZIT IN MY EYEBALL?” Because, and if I can be honest here, that probably would not surprise me.

Winston informed me that the zit was just the flash going off. Phew.

We went thought the whole test scenario, with me proudly rattling off letters that I could not see, but just making them up to prove my impending blindness. Winston delivered his verdict, which in a nut shell was that my left eye was a bit fucked and I needed stronger glasses.

He ran though his recommendations and cheerily told me that he wears the same lenses as me! As he rattled on, I sat in wonderment at his positivity. Eventually I could not help myself.

“Winston,” I asked “Are you always so cheerful?”

He confirmed that he was, and went on to say that some days he has to deliver terrible news to customers and he likes to be positive. The whole transaction was complete; I shook his hand and thanked him. He handed me over to Oscar, who had the enviable task of helping me choose frames.

I think the world needs more Winstons.

If you are in Chatswood, pop into Specsavers and bask in the glory of Winston’s positively.  See whether he can sneak a puff of air into your eyeball. This post is not sponsored by Specsavers, but perhaps ought to have been.


Do you know a really chirpy person?

Tell me about them….