Speccy Four Eyes

As well as being menopausal and all the associated crap symptoms., it turns out I am also half blind. The joys of getting older just keep coming! Dodgy Knee, Arthritic Finger, Sore Lower Back and Short Term Memory Loss all come out in force to welcome Dodgy Eyesight.

The opticians diagnosis was not a complete surprise. For a few months I have had to inch the menu in restaurants further and further from my face. I have to finally concede that my arms are not long enough to keep going with this strategy. I’d also dialled in to the wrong conference calls at work, having not been read the number properly.

I did find out some great gossip though as it took about 15 mins before the organiser realised they had a cuckoo in the nest (clearly I was not going to drop off as soon as I realised… this is the closest I have come to being a fly on the proverbial and it was intoxicating. (ps – soz team but Shazza was right – the ten zillionth restructure of the year is on its way).

But of course, it could not be as simple as just a pair of reading glasses. Turns out I am long and short sighted so need two bloody pairs. Twice the bloody expense. I had kind of guessed that too though – driving was becoming an issue especially at night, with the cars all merging into soft amber lights ahead and behind. The deciding factor was running as fast as I could to platform 6 for my train and leaping on it, only to hear the announcer declare it was going in completely the opposite direction. WTF – I leapt off quickly and berated the Railway guard about wrong platform information. He kindly pointed out that my train was on Platform 8 – then more smugly than kindly pointed out I had just missed it!! Had to wait another hour which meant breaking my attempt at sugar free February again (I really do want to give up sugar but for just a pound I can get almost ten minutes of sheer happiness with a Family Sized Galaxy…if anyone can tell me what brings more happiness for a pound then I am all ears (so far Deafness hasn’t joined my ‘getting old party’ but give it time)

So £800 quid later (coz no other speccy four eyes fecker told me just to get the prescription and go on the internet for much cheaper glasses until after I had coughed out to a rather surprised but happy optician – of course since doing that every bloody specky four eyes has told me. Horse. Stable Door. Bolted. Anyone?), I left with two pairs of glasses. Having spent £800, another £80 on a handbag seemed a snip. And I did need a bigger one now that I have two pairs of glasses to keep in them. I remember the days of youth where I would head out with one small bag with cash and a Body Shop strawberry lip gloss. With each passing decade, my bag gets bigger. As well as glasses, I now have tweezers, small magnifying mirror to use when using the tweezers (just as an aside – either those bloody hormonal chin bristles have doubled overnight or my glasses plus magnifying mirror are a reflection of the bearded lady everyone else has been seeing when they have looked at me) ; water bottle (which is always heavy as I keep forgetting to drink the recommended 2 litres); diary (coz I forget everything and can’t figure out the calendar thing on my phone); a notepad (to write things that I need to remember – coz if not written down now – it ain’t happening); tissues (to mop up the sweats); nuts and seeds so I don’t binge on chocolate; chocolate wrappers coz I don’t really like nuts and seeds very much; tampons all the time coz the days of being regular as clockwork are well gone. So with all of this and the glasses – a much larger bag is a necessity rather than a luxury. And it can almost be described as a medical purchase as it assisted with the depression as yet another part of my body gives up.

So I rock up at work with my fab new bag (after driving half way with this bloody annoying beeping in the car and not knowing what it was – then finally working out the stupid car thought my bag was a person and wanted me to put its seatbelt on). It’s not that heavy ffs. So I had to pushed it onto the floor to stop it – and of course all my crap fell out all over the footwel). I fish out my specs and am feeling happy coz I am now seeing them as a fashion statement.

One of my colleagues looks at me, head tilted to the side. ‘They are OK’ he says ‘but you do look better without them’. Fucker!

I’You look better without them too’ I responded, internally giving myself a high five for such a witty reply – with brain fog these are few and far between. My satisfaction with this is short lived as he turns back to his spreadsheet. I resolve to use this line again in the future though but not with people who look at spreadsheets all day.

‘They are cute’ laughs another colleague, looking up from her spreadsheet. ‘You look a bit like a Harry Potter’

I don’t laugh, partly because a 12 year old boy wizard was not the image I was aiming for when I paid £800 for my designer glasses – and also because she didn’t laugh at my earlier witty comment.

So after three days of being a glass wearer, I have to conclude it may take some time to acclimatise to them. I used to like lying on my side in bed reading – try doing that with specs! They dig right into your head and ear. So have to sit up with a shawl now looking like my old Granny. I can’t drink hot tea when I am reading as they steam up.

And they are never bloody clean. I wipe them constantly but always there is a mark. Yesterday I was ready to go to the Doctors convinced I had glaucoma but it was just a finger print on the (twice cleaned) lens.

I don’t need them all the time – so when I am not reading at work I stick them on top of my head in what I consider a rather intellectually fetching way, but then I forget and lean forward and they fall off.

I continually lose them – though now I always check the top of my head now before looking further.

And what is with people wanting to ‘try them on’ then making comments about how blind I must be. I am sure this is against one of our disability policies. I mean, you couldn’t ask someone to borrow their wheelchair and talk about how crap their legs must be without HR sending you on a four day Diversity course. And then Big Fat Freda borrowed them and gave them back with the arms all stretched. I am a fatso too but so far my head has not increased in size so I had to mould them back into my face shape. She has tiny feet though – I am tempted to ask to try them on and stretch them all to buggery. See how she likes it. But she does have a bit of an odour problem there so I probably won’t. Don’t want to add smelly feet and veruccas to my problems. Actually – my feet are really good with no problems at all now that I think of it. Probably due to giving up on heels and living in sensible sketchers helping there.

But you gotta laugh. Coz where would you be without a sense of humour?

Working opposite me on spreadsheets probably!

Image may contain: sunglasses

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