I will be 40 years old this week. Yay me. This sucks because I don't feel 40 years old. Maybe 30. Definitely not 20, but that's mainly because I don't remember how 20 feels, since I am so ancient now.
I tried to dismiss the upcoming event, but was thwarted by my eyeballs. For a few months now, I've been unable to read the back of the aspirin bottle. Or fine print. One of my dearest friends who had the pleasure of turning 40 before me, happened to mention that “things happen” when you hit forty. For instance, your eyes suddenly decide they do not want to see anything up close anymore.
So when my husband asked me for the date on my watch, I had to own up to the fact that I had no freaking idea what the date on my watch was, because I couldn't see the damn thing. Sure, I could tell the time, but that tiny little date? No way. It was cautiously suggested I try out a pair of “reading” glasses the next time I hit the grocery store. I have now marked my decrepitude with a brand new pair of granny glasses. See photo above.
In fairness, they're not that bad and definitely help. I may look around for a more stylish pair. Like ones with flames on the sides to match my walker.
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