When the Fine Print Fights Back

It hits you when you least expect it. One minute, you're reading the back of a soup can like a champ, just like you read the cereal box at breakfast when you were a kid. The next, you're holding it at arm's length, squinting like you're trying to spot Bigfoot in the distance. And then it dawns on you: It's time for reading glasses.

You didn't want to be here. You lied about it, blew it off, and blamed the weather, the neighbors, and the lighting. You would blame the dog, but he can't see that well anymore. He also can't read, so Spot is useless at soup cans unless they're open.

It starts innocently enough. You find yourself turning the lamp up a little brighter. The restaurant menu suddenly feels like it's written in ancient runes. But you ignore it because surely, your eyes are fine.

For me, it was the day I misread the cooking instructions on a frozen pizza and baked it at 425 for 45 minutes. It seemed a bit long to me, but I didn't make the rules. Let's just say the fire alarm agreed. I really should have phoned a friend on that one.

I admit that I knew better, but to be fair, it was a tropical pizza with pineapple on it. It deserved to be burnt.

You'll tell yourself it's the lighting, the font size, or even the alignment of the planets. Anything but admitting your vision isn't what it used to be.

Why bother to let the world in on your secret yet? You can handle this. You have on your adult undies. Off to the drug store, or in many cases in the South, the Walmart pharmacy section. The displays of cheap readers are usually near the intake window. They like to eye you as if you planned to stuff the entire row of racks in a duffle bag and sneak off.

They wouldn't be that way unless someone had already tried it.

The display looks like something from a sci-fi movie. Rows upon rows of glasses in every color, strength, and style. It's like a beauty pageant for eyeballs.

Standing there, trying on different strengths, holding up a random greeting card to see if you can read the words 'Happy Birthday' without feeling dizzy. You're part scientist, part lab rat.

Now you've got to pick a pair that says, "Yes, I need reading glasses, but I'm still cool." Spoiler alert: there is no such pair.

There are the Buddy Holly Birth Control Glasses, of course, that will bring any prior service member flashbacks, the tortoise-shell slot machine grandma special, and the librarian chain to give that look of elderly mama authority. Somewhere in there will be various colors and styles that will make one reconsider what planet they actually live on.

I settled for the '60s Clark Kent model that, in the mirror, turned me into a youthful Atticus Finch. I was feeling wise and ready to piss the general populace off.

It was a good match, after all.

That first pair of readers isn't just a tool; it's a reminder that you're not 25 anymore. They might as well come with a note that says, "Welcome to the next stage of life."

You look in the mirror and suddenly see your dad staring back at you. The same dad who always seemed to have a pair of glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose.

My father had that down to an art form, especially the part where he looked over the top to reiterate that the spectacles were only for reading, and he could inspect you just fine. And then, he would dress you down with a focus that made you just want to sit down and shut up.

If my eyes are going, what's next? My knees? My memory? Is this how it starts? Am I officially 'old'?!

Yes. Yes, I am. My brain is still in its 20s, and everything else is now vintage. I know that I look at my parents a lot differently now than I used to, rest their souls.

It may be the first time you look into things like an AARP membership and what kinds of fun they will prevent you from having at the senior center.

As for those glasses, you'll lose them constantly. On your head, in the car, under the couch cushions. And you'll say things like, "Where are my readers?" which is something you swore you'd never say.

As much as you hate to admit it, life is easier when you can actually read the instructions on your prescription bottle without a magnifying glass.

I would advise arming yourself with one of those anyway. You will likely not be forgiving of yourself the one time you want to take a pill to help you get a good night's sleep and pop a Sildenafil instead.

Hey, they were both blue and roughly the same shape. You have an excuse; it's just not a good evening.

Eventually, you'll embrace them—or at least tolerate them. They're not just glasses; they're a badge of honor. Proof that you've survived this long, blurry vision and all.

The kids will see an old fart, those your age will welcome you to the club that we all unwillingly get initiated into, and the older folk will get anxious that there are more coming down the age pipeline.

Sure, buying your first pair of readers feels like a crisis, but it's really just a new chapter. One where you can finally read the fine print without squinting.

If nothing else, at least now you've got a new accessory to lose around the house. And hey, maybe next time, the frozen pizza won't end up as charcoal.

So, here's to the readers: the ultimate reminder that life isn't perfect, but at least now you can see it a little more clearly—one pair of glasses at a time.

If you get frustrated, they are pretty aerodynamic.