Old Fart

Presbyopia - noun \ˌprez-bē-ˈō-pē-ə, ˌpres-\ - a visual condition which becomes apparent especially in middle age and in which loss of elasticity of the lens of the eye causes defective accommodation and inability to focus sharply for near vision.

I remember first hearing that word as a child and thinking, But I'm Presbyterian. Why would anyone have a phobia of Presbyterians? We're boring! We eat casseroles! When I finally looked up the meaning of the word, the lightbulb went off in my head and I realized, yeah so not having anything to do with Presbyterians, but everything to do with old people looking at their menus at either arm's length or with glasses they couldn't find because said glasses were perched on top of their bald heads.

A few years ago, I discussed with my eye doctor the possibility of surgery to correct my extreme myopia (near-sightedness), present since age seven. I already was a bit squirrely about letting someone poke around my cornea WHILE I'M AWAKE AND REMEMBERING THE WHOLE THING and when Dr. G said, "Well, we can correct the myopia and the astigmatism, but you'll need glasses again in a few years when you hit 40 and need reading glasses." that was all the excuse I needed to back away from mental images of a maniacal eye doctor coming at my eyeballs with a really large scalpel.

(Yeah, I know, the surgery isn't like that. I KNOW! Just let me have my horror show fantasies, m'kay?)

One of my favorite hobbies is cross-stitching and blackwork embroidery and since age 10, I have thoroughly enjoyed finding a quiet corner and stitching anything and everything possible. The more skilled I became, the smaller the weave on my aida cloth became. The smaller the weave, the neater and tighter the embroidery becomes. And the harder it is to see the holes. That's never been a problem in the past but in the last couple of years I find that I'm squinting more and more and getting really pissed about it.

After my doctor appointment, and to kill time before picking the kids up from school, I stopped off into my favorite mall store and roamed around, touching the clothing fabrics, admiring the teapots, and wincing at the price tags. As I tried on a pair of sunglasses I didn't need, I saw reading glasses of all shapes and colors. And there, on the top, was a purple pair, magnification +1.50.

What the hell, I thought, I might as well give this try and do it in style with a pair of glasses that matches my hair.

And so now, I am the proud, but annoyed, owner of a pair of reading glasses. Yes, I am 41. Yes, technically, according to American life span charts, I am middle-aged. But, dammit, if I'm going to be afraid of Presbyterians, then I'm going to do it with a bit of sass.

If you happen to stop by Casa de CMG, and you come up to my office/craft room/hang out, you will find me thus:

Just call me "Ms. Cross-Bitch" if you're nasty!