So there I was, standing at the end-cap in the pharmacy section of Wal-mart, trying to work my way around an elderly woman and peer over her shoulder into a tiny mirror. Perhaps something in a tortoise-shell? Or gray metallic? Burnt orange? None of them looked good. Why? Because I’ve had to wear glasses my whole damn life, that’s why.

I thought I made the switch to contact lenses when I was ten. Then, at forty-three, I went to the eye doctor and he gave me contacts for astigmatism. My vision has never been better. I can see like a hawk. Street signs at night? No problem. The fence in the outfield? I can read the numbers. There’s only one problem. I have to squint to read a computer screen, or a book, or the ingredient label on a can of soup. So here I am, dear readers, in my new pair of eyeglasses. Nifty. Very posh. Very trendy. I want to barf.

On the bright side, I can read this darn computer screen without getting a headache, and I won’t have to limit my self to the large-print section at the library. But what if I have to take them to work to read the order screen?


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