Sir Bruce, on Goggles

Sir Bruce enters the room. He would like to introduce Vodbog. Unfortunately, she is busy writing an essay on Educating Rita for her beloved friend. He sighs, and moves towards a long, dark red sofa, opposite which is a smaller, light brown padded chair. The room is un-necessarily bright and anti-shadowy. From his pocket, he takes a small piece of plastic. He unrolls it, showing that it is in fact a semi-transparent wrapper with a sealable top. He flips it from hand to hand before setting it down on the coffee table that has just appeared. That's the thing about him. He's special. No, he wasn't born into the best of magical bloodlines... In fact, he wasn't born into any magical bloodline, and has had no reason to believe in magic whatsoever. So what does he know makes him special? Well, he knows... The Truth. He's decided that he knows the truth about absolutely everything. You see, you're all just a figment of his imagination. Even he is. The body, anyway.

Only a true genius like himself could invent such a balanced universe. Yes - it would be much better had he not made humans, but by the time he realised that the experiment had gone haywire, they'd already made pretty little orange lights, and killed off at least seven other species. He was starting to like them... He thought they were a lot like him. How wrong could he have been? Alright, some of them were pretty cool. You've got to admit that Darth Vader thing was a stroke of genius, eh? Nothing wrong with hippies, or anything, but peace? That's so boring. His perfect world would have plenty of wars and racists, and sexists, and religionists, and satanists... Much like this one, actually. Anyway, he just knows that nothing actually exists, and due to that, he is able to manipulate the 'world' due to his belief. It's simple enough. He thinks that if people stopped believing in gods, they stop exising, then he should be able to make things appear and disappear whenever he likes.

Anyhow, as much as he'd like to carry on talking about his pure marvellousness, he should really get onto the actual topic... He picks up the packet again and reads the print aloud to himself.

Splashappy

Swimming Goggles

• 
  
  Polycarbonate lenses


• 
  
  Soft neoprene seal


• 
  
  Adjustable rubber headband and nose piece


• 
  
  Conforms to BS 5883:1996

What he'd like to point out is that the colourful blue, yellow, and red plastic covering is quite obviously directed at young children from the age of, say, 5 to 12, with the little smiling faces just... All happy... Just... Looking at you... Smiling... As if they know something... He quickly flips the wrapper over on the coffee table before continuing.

The all-in-one adjustable rubber headband and nose piece is understandable - everyone knows what rubber is, right? But... Polycarbonate, and... neopets... No - wait, that's a virtual pet website for children... Not that Sir Bruce would know that... What really got him was the conforms to BS 5883:1996 . How are small children between the ages of 5 and 12 supposed to know that that means that the contents reach the specification for surface swimming goggles by the British STandards Institution?

His eye is caught by the text on the back of the wrapper:

Eye safety Warning

When wearing these goggles, to avoid discomfort and possible eye damage:

DON'T dive.

DON'T swim under water below 2m

DON'T pull them away from face.

He can't help but wonder why one would bother wearing the goggles in the first place, then? For one thing, you'd never get them off again. He doesn't know about you, but he doesn't fancy wearing pink coloured lenses for any longer than necessary. If he wanted to view the world through rose tinted goggles for a while, he'd simply strive to become an optimist. Much less embarassing... And it doesn't last as long, either.

And what is he supposed to wear while diving? Beer Goggles? There is a slight pause as his voice rings around the room. Actually, that's not such a bad idea... Hmm...

There is something in the small print at the bottom of the text that he thinks might be more to the 'for children' theme... He squints to try and read it. Ah, there he is... "The headstrap is used to keep the goggles in place." Really? He thought it was just an ornament. And anyway, according to the laws of Sir Bruciness, you don't actually need a strap to keep anything on, because the imagination can do it for you.

Hmm... According to those laws, you don't even need goggles at all, because water doesn't actually affect your eyes, because the particles are all just a figment of his imagination... Damn! Vodbog wasted an imaginary £4.50 on those! Oh well, it's only Vodbog... He thinks, glancing through the doorway to see if she's finished his essay yet.