Too much information

Published on Friday, 9th April 2021

She dropped her spoon in shock. "But how did you know that about me?"

"Oh, I think I mentioned in the office that I was meeting you for the first time today in real life, and somebody said, I don't know who ..."

"But nobody knows that - only my doctor. And the optometrist."

I felt sick. "I was keen not to offend you, I guess. So I did do a bit of, um, research."

She leaned across the table, intense, angrily bringing her suspicious face even closer to mine, so I had to pretend to scratch my ankle. My only thought was that I was not going to look at her. I didn't want to let her see me staring at that faint, dark glassiness. Watching her sight float free.

"Research" - she spat it out, contemptuously. "That's one word for it."

Did she know? I was trying to stop my heart beating so loudly. Why had I blurted that out?! How stupid!

But why put it on the interwebs if she didn't want everyone to know? And how could I not look? - even if it was not meant for me, but for that great and imagined sympathetic public, for strangers with their supportive woke handles. Not for someone you could meet for a coffee, face-to-face.


"I have a problem with my vision, too," I offered. This did not have the desired calming effect.