The Eyes Have It

Written by on 16 January, 2019

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The Eyes Have It

The rumor is true. The myth has been confirmed. The first thing to go on your body when you turn forty is… your eyesight (openings like that tend to make the editor extremely nervous).

But, to continue on with my findings, I never used to have problems with my eyesight until I turned forty. I must confess, three-fifths of my family wear some sort of eye wear. However, I’ve always been blessed with twenty-twenty vision. There was a time that I could spot a quarter on the ground, a mile away, and be able to tell you the year on it. Now, I’m lucky I don’t walk into the side of a Wells Fargo truck. When I was younger, I used to love to read. Now, it’s a real chore. In fact, I’m typing this article, right now, while my wife is holding the computer screen from across the room. I believe the doctors call this “farsightedness.” An appropriate name for a condition that requires one to read the small print on a contract from a helicopter.

Sure, I could get fitted with glasses, but then I’d have to face all my family and friends, telling me how good I look in them and then listen to their snickers and comments about how much I look like Great Grandpa Megill, just before they took away his driver’s license for pulling up to a drive-in window at the bank and ordering a Big Mac.

The thing that bothers me most is driving at night. I used to be able to drive down a dark highway, in the middle of the night, with a stream of cars coming at me, with their high beams on and never squint. Now, I need to wear sunglasses if they have their parking lights on.

Driving at night is even more of an adventure. All those little beams of light, shining through the prisms of the raindrops on my windshield, makes it look like there’s an invasion of extraterrestrials in front of me.

Forget about trying to find a house number or read a street sign at night. By the time I focus on what street it is, I’m two blocks passed it. This disturbing inability to read signs while driving is probably the inner most secret behind why there are few pizza delivery guys over forty.

My wife has tried to encourage me into going to the optometrist, ophthalmologist, or one of those “ists”, to have my eyes examined, just in case I do need glasses. She says that I’m crazy about the stigma behind wearing glasses. What I don’t want to tell her is that I’m afraid that all those years of calling my brother “four-eyes” is going to come back to haunt me.

My wife suggested that I wear contact lenses. I don’t know. The thought of purposely sticking a piece of plastic in my eye sounds about as appealing as drilling my own teeth with a Craftsman Cordless Power Drill.

I guess I’ll just continue on the path that I’m headed down and wait until they hook me up to a German shepherd to make it across the street. Besides, my wife has been bugging me about getting a dog anyway.

See you soon on Plexus, I’ll be back with more articles…. from the beautiful, quiet and snowy Colorado. Thank you Roger Balta for the warm welcome to the team. You are a great guy.

Author: Carl M.


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