I've been feeling old lately as my eyesight just isn't what it used to be. Considering that I've been wearing eyeglasses since I was a preschooler, what it used to be wasn't much to write home about either. I've been living that joke that goes, "You don't need stronger glasses, you need longer arms," as I hold papers away from me and squint. I reached rock bottom about a week ago when paying bills. I had to call my six year old away from building an elaborate Lego and plastic army man battlefield to read my account number off a credit card bill. The print was too fine for me to read. God knows I didn't want to write the wrong number on my check causing the payment to be late in light of the current national credit card crisis. So my poor vision had me feeling old. The antidote? Visiting my ophthalmologist's office. Holy cardigan sweaters! The room was packed with septua- and octogenarians! I never felt so scantily clad in capri pants and a short sleeve t shirt. Every other person in the room had either a cardigan or windbreaker on and looked like an understudy for this guy.
That's fine. I'm all for layering. Here's my problem. There was nothing good to read! I've said it before that the only reason I go to the doctor and dentist regularly is to catch up on my tabloids. Health schmealth! I want to know what's going on with Heidi and Spencer, Brad and Angelina, and those spunky Real Housewives of New Jersey. It seems like everyone else at my eye doctor's office wants to read Better Homes and Gardens, something published by AARP, or a magazine called Somethings of World War II. I wish I could tell you what the something is but my pupils were dilated and I couldn't quite make it out. Don't these people care about Jon and Kate and poor stressed out Susan Boyle? Ah well, I left the office non the wiser about what's happening with those cat fighting girls from The Hills, but with a prescription for new eyeglasses in my hand and a spring in my step.