I don't know why he asked because I can't see anything, it's all a blur. The watch is completely useless, it's just a pretty piece of jewelry I wear to constantly remind me that I'm blind. I know I need reading glasses, but I just don't want them.
Why? Because I can't even keep up with my debit card, or my regular sunglasses, or my badge for work. Hell, I even lost one of my kids the other day. I'm not worthy of the responsibility of having something else to worry about. My friend Melissa wears TWO pairs of reading glasses on top of her head and a pair around her neck, and is forever looking for hers. "Hang on, we can't leave, I can't find my glasses", as she gives herself a pat down that is police worthy.
Back in the day, I used to share an office in Chicago with an older lady named Gladys that wore her reading glasses attached to a long colorful beaded necklace, maybe a little nicer than Mardi Gras beads.
She had a system that she would stamp hundreds of documents that she processed. She would perch her glasses on the end of her nose and proceed to lick her finger and thumb, and separate every single piece of paper for stamping. Lick, Stamp, Lick, Stamp, Lick, Stamp. Lick, Stamp. All.day.long. I couldn't help myself, sometimes, I would stare at her, somewhat hypnotically, until she yelled at me in that nasally Chicagoan, "whaddyalookinat???" (I'm looking at a nut job, but I didn't say that because she probably was, and I was young and sort of scared of her.)
If that wasn't bad enough, not only does everything close look blurry, I can't see at night to drive. If I had a dollar for every time I've scared my husband...
Him: You are going to stop, right? Like NOW? HOW ABOUT NOW??
Him: You know you're off the road, right? That's gravel flying up at the car, sweetheart. (sweetheart is said between clenched teeth)
Him: Why are you braking? That truck is two football fields away. No, you're not right up on it. Why are we doing 40 MPH on the Interstate? Do you want to die? Because this is how we're going to die. Do you want me to drive? No, I'm not trying to make you nervous, I'm just trying not to die.
Him: Do you hear that sound? Do you know what that sound is? Those are called Rumble Strips. Do you know what they're for? They're for when you go off the road, and the car vibrates that's your signal to get back ON the road. If you would get back on the road, that would be great. Do you want me to drive? I will. I don't mind. No, I'm not trying to make you mad, it's just that my head hurts from you riding on the rumble strips for the last 5 miles. Yessss, it's been 5 miles.
I'm that person now. I can't see to read. I can't see to drive at night.
So, it's come to this: I'm scared of turning into Gladys. I don't want to be known as the reading glasses on a chain finger paper licker lady. I don't want to go into a restaurant and dig around in my boobs for a spare pair of glasses just to read the menu, when I've got two pairs on top of my head. I feel like I've got plenty of other quirks without adding new ones. Until then, someone is just going to have to read the menu to me, or tell me what time it is, and drive me around like Miss Daisy. Which would be cool if they would also narrate my life in the voice of Morgan Freeman.
