I recently turned 40 and though all the glossy magazines at the checkout counter assure me that 40 is the new 30, it would be a blatant lie if I didn’t admit that I don’t feel 30, and certainly not 40.
I can’t account for the past 10 years despite the fact that inexplicably, I’ve wilfully acquired some “baggage” — I now have 3 school-age kids, countless bills, a husband and an IRA. I don’t feel like 40, whatever than means. But, I guess others, younger others, have figured out what I still have trouble admitting — I am 40-years-old.
I am still thrown when someone, for instance, the grocery boy, calls me “Ma’am.” It makes me laugh because I feel disconnected to the sobriquet. I’m inclined to think he’s gravely mistaken or an ageist. Either way, surely this boy isn’t addressing me.
Anyway, the real topic at hand is that I have a sneaky suspicion I might need bifocals. I’ve worn glasses since 6th grade, and for about 8 or 9 years, my prescription has not changed; meaning, it hasn’t worsened. However, over the last few weeks I’ve noticed I have to take my glasses off to see things up close — something I’ve never needed to do before. And here’s the real, tell-tale sign: things that I read at a normal reading distance sometimes become blurry or difficult to read.
I need reading glasses and/or bifocals. There I said it. What a relief.
According to various reliable sources (friends and Wikipedia), middle age begins in your mid-40s. Women that age are afflicted by various unmentionables during this time: worsening eyesight, cholesterol, weight gain, menopause.
Good god, it looks like I’m right on schedule.