Today I cried.
Well, not really. I cried on the inside though.
I’m mouring the loss of my youth.
Today, I broke down and bought readers.
For those of you who don’t know what readers are, they are for old people like me who need their reading materials magnified because they can’t see them.
That’s me. Old and borderline blind when it comes to ANYTHING to do with writing. I mean OMG…I have to use my new, lovely readers to write this damn post because the text on my iPad is too small and G-D FORBID I should have access to my computer where my husband is downloading some stupid MMA thingy. I’d probably have to use these readers to write there anyways, so what’s the diff? Sigh.
I realized I couldn’t see so wonderfully anymore on Saturday (actually, I realized awhile back but I chose to stay in denial) when I borrowed my husbands readers so that I could see the menu at the restaurant we went to for “date night”.
I was complaining to him that OBVIOUSLY the writing on the menu was too small for human eyes. Because, I have perfect vision and wasn’t able to read the meal descriptions.
He sort of snorted as he handed me his old man glasses.
I rolled my eyes at him because that’s what I do when he’s wrong. Which, he is wrong A LOT. In my mind, at least.
Then, I put them on.
Ahem. Yeah, I could read the descriptions and was able to order based on what I read, not what I guessed I read.
Then I had a flashback to my shower earlier.
Get yer mind out of the gutter people, this is a serious matter.
I had this Prima skin cleanser that was left from the BanShe SWAG. I decided to give it a try. It’s always good to take care of your skin, especially on your face.
I couldn’t read the writing on the bottle. The instructions, nope, couldn’t see them.
So, I guessed at what I was supposed to do and prayed that I did it right. Actually, I prayed that it was for my face and not like something for other regions of the body, not that we have anything like that in our shower that I can see.
And that led to a series of flashbacks. Signs I couldn’t read which made me miss my turn. Squinting and headaches. Having to make the writing on screens bigger because I thought my allergies were causing blurry vision. Signs. Signs. Everywhere, signs. And none of them could I accurately read.
I own a pair.
I don’t care that they are cute. I don’t care that they are the lowest strength.
I care that I’m getting old and my vision isn’t as perfect as it used to be.
I care that I have chiskars and my husband asked me why I was shaving my face. By the way, I was told by my friend and esthetician to NEVER pluck, to ONLY shave. I do what I’m told.
I care that I have fine lines that are slowly and inevitably making their way toward wrinkledom.
I care that I can’t lose 10 pounds in a week anymore.
I care that my grey comes in faster than I can speed dial my hairdresser.
I care that when I smile, my eyes crinkle at the corners a little more (OK, a lot more) than they used to. And those crinkles? They aren’t disappearing as quickly.
I care and hate that, just because I don’t feel like I should be 43, my body is laughing at me and making my biological age known. Biologically, my body doesn’t care that mentally I’m 18 or so.
It’s really pissing me off.
I used to mark my age by telling myself that, hey…I’m still in my child-bearing years so, I must still be somewhat young.
I’m out of my child-bearing years now because the thought of bearing another child is unbearable. No offense to those I’ve beared already.
I don’t want to grow old.
I really don’t. It scares me.
I fail to see how golden those years really are. And it’s not just my failing eyesight that is creating that lack of vision.
Just slow it down already. Someone. Whoever is in charge of the master switch.
I can’t keep up. Which is probably because of age. But still.
Hearing aids? Canes and walkers?
Well, for me, the next thing will be Botox if my lines age as fast as my eyes are.
I can’t believe that today, my mission was to find a cute pair of readers.
Which…cute, they are.
It doesn’t make up for the fact that I need to wear them to even get this blog post written without too many spelling errors.
I’m so NOT happy about this.
Not happy. At. All.
But, there is nothing I can do about it.
Except complain here, on my blog, while writing with readers.