I am extremely myopic. Blind as the proverbial bat, without my glasses. And yesterday, in the course of a single hour, I manged to break all three pairs.

The first pair fell on the floor and sprung its little screws. Of course, I couldn't find them without my glasses. So I put on the second pair, and the arm broke off. Then the frames of the third pair disobligingly snapped in half. So there you go. It was evening, and I decided that I couldn't cope. Bao didn't understand. I could see him thinking, What's the big deal? Why can't she just smell things, like I do? So I poured myself a Scotch and went to bed.

This morning, I scotch-taped the second pair of glasses to my face, and went in search of the eyeglass frame repairer. Usually, it takes a week for repairs. But there I was, a poor little old lady with lenses like coke bottles -- and no glasses. The nice man took pity upon me, and fixed one pair on the spot.

So I thought you'd enjoy the picture. It's from a painting by Gerome, an entry in a 1902 Parisian exhibition of advertising signs made by artists. Au petit chien -- optician. Get it? An oddly surrealist painting for Gerome, who actually urged the French President to cover his eyes rather than look at the Impressionist paintings at the 1900 Paris Worlds Fair, which he considered a national disgrace. I love the terrier's monocle. And the way the sign sort of looks back at you.

And guess what? A New York literary agent has agreed to represent my novel!