I am officially old.
As if being diagnosed with an arthritic jaw this year isn’t enough, after my first eye test in 15 years I now find out I have to wear glasses. Not just trendily for reading. Or to make an occasional fashion statement. No. I have to wear them all the time.
‘ALL the time?’ I checked. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Except when you’re relaxing and not using your eyes.’
And when would that be exactly? At night, I imagine. Fabulous. Well at least the glasses-wearing won’t interfere with my nighttime mouth-guard wearing.
I’ve decided I’m going to ask my mum for a copy of my birth certificate. I fear Daddy Pig might have married an octogenarian without realising it. He could sue me under the Trade Descriptions Act.
Because really. Don’t these things only happen when you’re old? Properly old? Not a mere girl in her early 20s. Ahem.
I blame the lady in Vision Express who said I ‘sounded’ like a ‘Mrs’ when I booked the appointment. She jinxed me there and then. She also told me the appointment would only take 20 minutes. Had I known I would be there for almost two hours, I probably wouldn’t have taken Godivy with me.
Godivy who screamed her way through most of the eye test. Godivy who prompted the ophthalmologist to ask whether I might prefer to come back another time, as I stuffed another banana in her mouth before asking if he had a bin for the skin. Godivy who said ‘no,’ every time I asked her what she wanted.
I admit these are probably not ideal testing conditions but they’re as ideal as they’re ever going to be in the crazy world I inhabit. I apologised a lot when I left. If I hadn’t needed glasses I’d have probably bought a pair anyway just to smooth things over.
So the long and short of it is just that. I’m long sighted with a stigma thingy that means I have to wear them for distance and close up. I didn’t need an ophthalmologist to tell me stigma was my problem. Godivy was being enough of a social disgrace to show the whole world that.
Choosing the glasses was the real fun part. I’m going to be saddled with these all day long so it’s an important decision, right? One that deserves a bit of concentration.
Or alternatively one that you make in a hurry whilst juggling a fractious child on your hip. What with that and the obvious eyesight problem, I have no idea what I’ve ended up with.
So if you see a ‘woman’ who looks like a ‘Mrs’ with funny shaped glasses of the Dame Edna variety walking towards you, do say hello.
Because it will very likely be me.