I think I'm coming round to the idea that cataract surgery will be a *good* thing. 'You won't be crippled,' K said cheerfully to my preemptive moaning about the post-op days, 'you'll be blurred.' Well, I'm blurred already; surgery can't make it worse. This apropos of a Bach cantata recital I was going to tonight. Checked the time again online, only to discover it's tomorrow when I, for the first time in months, am sitting a small friend who's deemed too small to attend her sister's dance recital. The sign I saw a week ago doubtless said 'next Sunday', but blurry me read it as Saturday. Pfui.
So shall stay home and try to make more progress with The Bee-keeper's Apprentice, which mysteriously is not the fast romp a Holmes-involving story should be.