That Time I Found Out I Needed Reading Glasses

 

I have terrible eyesight. I don't see anything but blobs beyond six inches in front of my face. I have been wearing glasses since I was seven and contacts since I was about twelve. 

 

When I order new contacts or glasses, the eye center clerks always warn me it may take longer than most orders because of my "unusual prescription." That's fine with me. I have nothing to compare it to. I have no idea how long it takes the normal world to receive their corrective lens orders. 

 

My eye doctor always reassured me that my up-close vision is perfect, in fact, better than perfect, and that someone with severe myopia, (me), often has good reading vision.

Until now . . . 

 

I turned forty-seven, and suddenly, my body started doing ALL the middle-aged things.

 

During my most recent eye doctor visit, after failing the near-sighted (far away) eye exams miserably, I was presented with my far-sighted test. I typically ace this test, down to the tiniest print.

 

For the first time in my life, I stared at the exam and said nothing.

 

"Can you read the bottom line?" my eye doctor asked.

 

I just stared and sighed.

"What about the second-to-last line?" he asked, with a note of sympathy.

I sighed again.

He handed me my first ever readers prescription.

 

"It's very slight," he said. "You can always throw on a pair just to read the smaller fonts."

 

He went on to explain that since he had to increase my contact prescription this time around, my reading vision will also be worse while wearing corrective lenses. 

 

 

So . . . I wear reading glasses now. And the results are in.

 

Dan says I look like a librarian, and then he winks and wiggles his eyebrows, leading me to believe this might be compliment.

 

If you know anything about elementary age students, you know that, in their world, getting glasses, braces, or a haircut are equal to Clark Kent turning into Superman.  

 

When I pull out my glasses to read the class roster, it is a big deal. 

 

"These are my old people glasses," I tell them as they gasp in astonishment at my transformation in appearance.

 

When I forget to put my glasses on, I've noticed I need a selfie stick to read anything these days.

 

One night at a rehearsal, I forgot to pull my glasses out of my purse, and I was holding my script as far away from my face as I could manage. 

 

One of the younger guys in the cast leaned over and whispered, "Do you want me to just tell you the words?"

I was tuning my guitar one day without my glasses, and I couldn't figure out why it sounded so wrong. I was using a guitar tuner, and the light was lining up right in the center like it was supposed to, but the G string did not sound like a G at all. 

 

It turned out I couldn't see the tiny sharp sign next to the G on my tuner. I was playing a perfect G-sharp.

 

Fun fact: I have been leaving my reading glasses everywhere. They have been turned into the front office twice now. If that doesn't signify my progression into old age, I don't know what does.

 

 

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