Finally Seeing Straight

My poor mother is has been blind as a bat since grade school, wearing thick corrective lenses. So I blessedly won the genetic lottery by inheriting my father’s eyes. Same blue-gray color, same superhero Spidey vision. I’m in my 40s and have never needed glasses. But I had noticed, for the past few years, some vision changes and my compensations related to them: Squinting to read in dim light. Avoiding paperbacks with small print. Straining to see long-distance. Noticing less wrinkles than I actually have. (Or is that called denial?)

But, being a Master Procrastinator, I avoided getting my eyes checked. I pridefully wanted to see how old I could possibly get before I needed correction. Could I make it to 85? 90? If there was a Guinness Book World Record, I wanted to beat it!

But yesterday, after insisting that we have good vision coverage and should use it, Super Hubs dragged me in to see our family opthamologist. I’ve taken my kids to see him many times, but I’ve never personally been the victim of the scary gizmos and eye drops, so I was a tad apprehensive. But our kind doctor put me at ease as he gently had me look through a series of lenses, read letters on a wall, and then scanned my eyeballs to make certain I was really human and not a lizard. (I think. I watch “V.”) Then he sat back, declared my eyes healthy, but said that yes, I could use some correction and wear glasses as needed for distance and reading. Then he showed me shelf upon shelf of frames to choose from. Awesome. Shopping!

I tried on The Cool, The Scholarly, and The Marmish. The Weird, The Weirder and The So Not Me. Butterfly ultimately helped me land on a pair of fun, square magenta frames that I think are so very Moi. They are adorable, and I just may wear them more than I actually need to.

Now I’ll have glasses like most everybody I know. I am somewhat reluctantly joining the very large club of Citizens With Not Perfect Eyesight. But it makes me feel like a grownup.