Barack and I were sitting in my office, and he was consulting with me about corrective eye surgery. He had been referred to my practice for my expertise, and though I was flattered that he had come to me, I referred him to a well-known surgeon for the consult. I asked about his eyeglasses and if I might see them. He said he hated his glasses, but when he showed them to me, they were beautiful retro frames: thick, tortoise-shell, plastic. Yet they were mangled and badly in need of repair. I encouraged him to wear them, and offered to repair them. I began adjusting the frames in my private lab when I promptly broke them. I was horrified.