Ain't No Cure for the Middle-Aged Blues...Except Maybe Bourbon.

I've never had a 24-inch waist, a 6 figure income, or been able to run a 7 minute mile, but I have always been able to brag about having 20/20 vision. That is until recently. 

Last month, I was perusing the manual for a Duraflame Roasting Log to see if it's appropriate for indoor use--sadly, it is not, no S'mores for me. Anyway, all the words were blurry and illegible. I held it further away by a couple of inches...things started to get clearer. So, I held it out a few inches more and Voila,' I could read it perfectly. Damn! I finally understood the joke from the sitcoms where the woman holds the menu at arm's length. Wait! I didn't want to understand the joke. It was a getting old joke. 

My next wake up call occurred at Bingo at The Bar. On a side note, this is an event you should experience at least once in your lifetime if for the prizes alone, which could be any of the following: a decorative crystal Cinderella heel, bag of miniature Snickers, refurbished Dustbuster, VHS copy of Gone with the Wind, or tee shirt with Stewie from Family Guy dressed as a 70s pimp. A couple of week's ago, I attempted to make out the letters and number in the dimly-lit bar with my failing middle-aged eyes. The result was a premature Bingasm, which is highly frowned upon. I was shunned for the remainder of the evening. They take that shit seriously.

Final straw was this week when I was checking the dry erase board to see what we needed from the grocery. Chili powder, onions, toilet paper, dick soup...what the hell...DICK SOUP?  Ohhhhh...upon closer inspection it read...DISH SOAP. 

Since then, I have gone to the Dollar Tree and bought reading glasses in every pattern and shape and stashed a pair in every room of the house. Why so many? Because my memory is also going and I keep forgetting where I put them, but am still refusing to resort to Aunt Gertrude pearl spectacle chain. 

Who would have thought that my eyes would be the first to go and not my liver?