Quit Telling me I'm Old Doc!

Today I had that annual eye appointment. It’s that time of year where someone in a white coat believes it is his/her job to remind me of how old I am getting.

I won’t go into the details about how they also weighed me and took my blood pressure, which by the way was strange to me… in addition to making me shudder. (Think it may be time to once again stop eating popcorn at 2 am.)

However I will tell you I have only had to wear glasses for the last couple of years, and that it made me cry the first night I was told “Your eyes are aging just as you are. You are getting up there in age, and so are those eyes.” It was a travesty that had me ball up in my bed wishing I was 16 again… and that in its self just shows how over reactive I can be.

Growing up both my parents, as well as my sisters had to wear glasses. I however, did not. I took great pride in the fact that I could see and they couldn’t. Of course that was also great leverage I could use in the “I’m better than you cause…” argument.

Okay, I did have to wear glasses…There was the year I did everything I could to get glasses because I thought it would make me look cool. However, I then wanted to puke when I tried to wear the prescription I really didn’t need all day at school. It felt as if I was looking through a six inches of glass fish bowl full of murky water.  Took a whole month of my parents yelling at me to wear my glasses before they (I assume) figured out I didn’t really need them.

Now who’s laughing… Not I said the blind woman.

It’s terrible. I not only have to wear glasses so I can see my own hand in front of my face, they also decided I need a “special” pair of glasses just to use the computer or read. (The doc swears they are not bifocals… I don’t believe him. Anyone younger than some of the clothes I own can’t know everything.)

He “says” once again I needed a stronger prescription and that it will only get worse with age. He claims because I am close to forty, they will be changing drastically.  Pfft does he know that the only thing that was getting old was our whole conversation!

Why did this guy feel he needed to tell me over and over again that I am getting old? Who knows, but by the end of the appointment I felt as if I should be toting a cane and hitting him with it. “Damn you whippersnapper get the hell off my lawn!”

~Cheers!

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