I Can’t See The Writing on the Wall
March 23, 2010 § 9 Comments
With each passing day it becomes every more apparent that I need glasses.
About 3 months ago Hubby started noticing the subtle signs that I might need eyeglasses. I refused to acknowledge his equally subtle hints that I might want to get my eyes looked at.
Me: I look at my eyes at least 5 times a day. They look fine to me.
Hubby: I meant by uh, maybe, a professional?
Notice how he made that a query and not a statement, he probably had no idea what time of the month it was and decided to hedge his bets.
Hubby: Because that’s the third time this week you’ve asked me to read what Bart wrote on the chalkboard.
We missed about six years of the Simpsons due to having lives…okay, kids who had lives and we had to drive them around. Anyway, now that things have slowed down, we’re catching up.
And then a couple of weeks ago I was in the kitchen cooking and moving a box (yes, I feed my family crap that comes out of a box) back and forth in front of my face, when Hubby walked in the room.
Hubby: What are you doing?
And yes, I still need to read the directions to know how to cook the crap that comes out of a box that I feed my family.
Hubby: You know, you might want to GO get your eyes checked.
Me: I thought of that already. I noticed I’m also having trouble reading the chalkboard on the Simpsons.
Bless his heart, he hardly flinched at all when I said that even though I know how much he wanted to throw his hands in the air and say, “Dognamit woman, go blind for all I care but don’t say I didn’t warns ya!”
But it was today, when TWICE I’ve had to resubmit those tripped out word verifications to comment on my friends’ blogs. What’s with the red letters all in a row down there?
Despite Hubby’s niggling and my own very reluctant acceptance, what really got me was the shorter, bolder words that finally allowed me to see the light, as it were.
I need glasses.
Why is it that when I was thirteen I thought that getting glasses was the coolest thing? You know why, because I didn’t need them. Now that I do AND I’m 38 years old, it doesn’t feel quite so neato.
I know it’s not the end of the world. And big whoopie, poor me, I need glasses. I really don’t mean to whinge about something so trivial like needing glasses, it’s just that it forces me to accept that I’m getting older…as if looking at my two grown kids doesn’t do that enough already.