Pride and Progressives

pride and progressivesThis is not a post about politics. Nope, it’s about me and how I let my pride get the best of me.

You see, a couple of months ago I had my eyes checked. Thankfully, things were good and I was sent off to wander the wall of shelves full of hipster looking frames to pick one out. I also had a new prescription. A prescription for bifocals.


Nope. Not me. Not. Going. To. Happen. I am too damn young for bifocals. Thing is, obviously I’m not, as evidenced by my constant squinting. But of course that didn’t stop me, or my pride.

Oh yes they call them progressives now because you can no longer see the line that screams, “damn she’s old,” and  there’s no telltale magnifying glass at the bottom of the lens.

But my mind wasn’t ready for it, progressives or not.

I just could not handle it.

So, because I’m a mature 43 year old woman, comfortable in the fact she’s getting older and “hey, things like bifocals happen,” I got two pairs of glasses with two different prescriptions.

Because, you know, that was a better choice for me. And pride.

That was a dumb move. Dumb.

I’m sure I’m developing carpel tunnel flipping back and forth between the two pairs of glasses, all the hipsterness (it’s a word if I say it is) of the cute pairs I selected diminished by my constant squinting, glasses switching and basic fumbling around. Most times I end up doing that thing older folks do that cement their olderness (it’s a word now too) where they look at you over the top of their glasses. I always thought the move was laced with a bit of condescension. I now know that they just can’t see.

Yes, this is me now. Looking at people over the top of my glasses, just like someone who should be wearing bifocals.

Oh the irony.

Image source: You tour like a girl

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