It’s time to give thanks to Otto Wichterle.
Who? I hear most of you say.
(He’s the Czech chemist who invented contact lenses. Although, the multi-talented Leonardo da Vinci should be credited for the initial idea.)
Not because without those amazing inventors, I would just wander around my house bumping into blurry furniture. No. Glasses would shield me from such a fate.
But because without contact lenses I would be doing regular impressions of Papa Bear. Either that or physically appearing like the victim of a razor attack.
You see, my glasses help me to see. They deliver me safely across the road. They ensure the knife slices the onion instead of the finger, well, most of the time. They allow me to appreciate the faces of my generally happy children.
But they steam up when I come in from the cold.
Or open the oven door.
And I cannot wear them when having a shower or a bath.
Without Mr Wichterle my world would consist of unutterable measures of self-harm. Blood splattered bathrooms.
And no sex.
After all, what husband is motivated by a constantly injured, blood stained wife or, worse still, an actual werewolf in his bed?