Et tu, vision?

OooooOOOOooooo…. so this is Middle Age.

Blech.

Most of the time I don’t feel older… most of the time.  In my head I’m still right around 29.

My parts, however, tell another story.  It seems they are aging more quickly than I.

Over the past few years I thought that my vision problem was more of an arm problem.  My arms are not long enough for reading.

Yes, I said I use my arms to read.  Don’t you?

I discovered that if I extend my arms and move printed materials slightly farther away I could read perfectly.  On more than one occasion my husband has even offered to hold menus on his side of the table for me, the dear.

For a brief time I wondered if perhaps a decision was made by all of the people who print stuff at their annual People Who Print Stuff Convention.  Since it is cheaper to print stuff on less paper and by shrinking the print, less paper is used… money is saved.  How hard is it for millions of people to hold books, menus, newspapers, canned goods and cleaning supplies a little farther away? Let the reading masses bear the burden of this cost reduction by extending their arms.

Alas, it is not a conspiracy.  It is just my lot in life.

Now I have a new problem:  I guess my arms are shrinking.

My arms are shrinking?

I guess I should be running in circles flailing my now freakishly short arms in a complete ”Help! My arms are shrinking!” panic yet I remain eerily calm.

I’m calm because I know my arms are not shrinking.  I am aging.  More accurately, my eyes are aging.  My arms are fine, well not fine per se… they resemble scary white bat wings covered with ginormous freckles, but their length is just fine.

So, I have invested in fabulous reading glasses.

This morning I was lamenting in my head about how hard it is to read the names on prescription bottles if I leave my fabulous reading glasses on my nightstand, when in my peripheral vision I saw the cat jump up onto a kitchen chair.  I tried to focus on the cat but, knowing I hate when he gets all up on the kitchen furniture, he fled when my head snapped in his direction.

I attempted to focus, instead, on the empty pizza box, still on the table after last night’s dinner, from a new place near here.  There, on the edge of the box, in big bold letters it said:  NOT DELICIOUS PIZZA!

Oh! So that’s why it tasted so icky… it clearly states on the side of the box that it is not delicious.  How did I miss that?  Did the surgeon general make them put that there?  Couldn’t they have just put that little tidbit of information in their ad and saved me thirty bucks?

Wait.  Crap… take three steps closer to the table and it says HOT DELICIOUS PIZZA.   Liars.

Aaaaaaand now my distance vision is going, too.