I’ve been in a state of denial for years. When I turned 40, my husband said “It won’t be long before your eyesight is history.” First, how mean is that? Shining the light on my age as I said farewell to my 30s. Unfazed by his prediction of my ocular deterioration, I came back at him with “I’ve always had 20/20 vision. Perfect vision. It’s not going to change anytime soon.”
Well, color me wrong. Just 3 years later I found myself holding restaurant menus just a little further away from me, and my nighttime reading was literally a blur. Instead of picking up reading glasses from the local pharmacy, I simply adjusted my life to fit this new reality—and made excuses whenever I was “caught.”
I checked restaurant menus online before we left the house so that I was prepared for what to order. No need to hold the menu at arm’s length. Problem solved.
I ditched paperbacks and went completely digital with my book reading. I told myself that it was strictly for the environment. Carbon footprint and all that jazz. Yea. Right. It had NOTHING to do with the fact that I could manipulate the font size on my iPad. Nothing at all.
I had a lot of success ignoring the inevitable, until this past fall when I went to vote for the first time. Before being ushered to the electronic station (where I was sure the print would be an appropriate size), I was asked to fill out a form. I stared at the form –that someone in their 20s or 30s had printed with super tiny font—and it was all a blur. I could make out were I was supposed to put my name — probably where I was supposed to put my name. The first line, I guessed. But beyond that, I couldn’t fake it any longer. A young (yea, young) man saw me sitting there, with pen hovering over the sheet of blurred words, and said “Do you need another pen, m’am?” First of all, ugh to the term “m’am!” I’m not even 50! Anyway, I smiled at him, trying to be sexy or younger or something other than the woman who (he knew) couldn’t read the form. “The printing on the form is really bad,” I told him.
