I noticed the other day that I have a small, micro-scratch on my lens. The right one. It’s so minor that I have to hold the glasses up to a light and angle the frame just so to see it. It’s doesn’t affect my vision one bit, but in my mind I can see the scratch.
To say I am fastidious about my lenses would be an understatement. Ever since I started wearing glasses, I’ve always had this penchant for keeping the lenses crystal clear and void of any imperfections. Most of the time I have succeeded. In fact, even at this very moment, I’m despondent that the lens has this tiny, nano-sized line on its smooth, polished surface.
To me it’s a Brobdingnagian swath of white that stretches from one end of the lens to the other. This is hampering my vision in such a way that I will – no, I MUST go to the optical store and have another one made. If not, I will go insane. As will the people around me because I can’t stop talking about “my scratch” on the lens of my glasses.
If you were to see this scratch, I can imagine your response. “Where is it? “It’s right (pause) there. There. See it when the light reflects off the ragged and crude edges! There!” The look of incredulity astounds me. “Can’t you see it? They’re ruined. My perfect glasses are spoiled by the speed of life, the politics of the day, the rush to get everything done fast. Aaugh!”
By now the person has gone away. Once I open my eye lids that I thought closing would seal in my inner angst, I find I have been left standing there agonizing to myself.
Hello, Cigar Buyer!!!
Yes, as critical as I am about this imperfection, I’ve got nothing on the guy who’s buying a cigar and giving it the once over so it can be as perfect as can be to be burned into smoke and ashes. You’ve seen them. They will pick up a cigar and examine it as if they are buying a rare object that has been on display in the museums and now, now they get a chance to hold it in their hands and gaze upon its sacred beauty. I’ll hear it all the time at shops. The manager will walk in with a customer and begin to suggest cigars. . .
“Hmmm? Where? Oh, that’s a water spot.”
“Oh.” He puts the cigar back in the box and moves on to another selection.
“What’s wrong with that one?”
Am I hearing this right? I mean I know there is a cigar brand out there that is known for its perfect wrappers with nary a water spot or blemish upon its precious skin. Yet, this is what the customer expects from all cigars – perfection?
An alternative is drawn to his attention.
“Yeah, but look at the veins.”
Another artisanal tobacco tube turned down. Veins? You have got to be kidding me! Guess what the cigar is rolled in? A leaf you idiot! And guess what leaves have! Veins you moron! And once and awhile a vein or two will be more prominent. It does not affect the cigar’s taste. Oh, sure, if it’s a whopper it may disturb the burn, but I see that so rarely on fine, premium cigars that it’s a non-issue.
Both look at each other. Quietly the search continues. I leave the humidor.
There’s nothing wrong with being persnickety about your choices, but be realistic. Those few blemishes or veins are not going to change your experience one iota.
But a scratch the size of the Nile on MY lens?! Now that’s an issue!