I walked into the eye center today to order new glasses. I engaged the sales associate, letting her know what’s going on, “My vision is shaky, things keep getting blurry.” She responded kindly, “Your eyes are tired.”
Then, she guessed my age, “What are you, almost 40?” (Bless her little heart!)
“Well, a bit past 40.”
“Oh, then, it’s time. Isn’t it fun. Once you hit 40, things go downhill.”
And there you have it. This age thing has plagued me for a few years now. The more they say I’m normal, the easier it has been to digest, but come on. An acquaintance was also picking out new glasses, and we had this aging conversation while trying on one pair after another.
Her take, “It’s hard to accept when you don’t feel old.”
Between tendonitis in multiple areas, blurry vision, starting a regime of blood pressure medication, and having ‘my girls smashed like pancakes, this week was exhausting, frustrating, and honest. Do men deal with this junk, too? Or is this a special kind of torture reserved for the female sex? Will I ever be problem-free again?
To top it off, I purchased my first pair of reading glasses today. Convinced these people were crazy, and I must have a problem with my eyes or brain, I knew they would not work. I put those little things on, and surprise, I can read the fine print again. I told my son, “Now I look like those older ladies.” No. I don’t look like them, I have joined them.
I’m stuck wondering if she guessed that age to make me feel better? Are you almost 40? What was that?
Forward I march. Another physical done, another year gone, prepared for everyone to remind me I’m getting older.