It seems the time has come — can I get a drum roll? — for progressive lenses.
In a few more days, I will no longer have to play that weird game with my glasses so I can read a book, newspaper or food label. You know, the one that goes: Push them down to the end of my nose; now remove them altogether and press reading material against nose; wipe newsprint from nose, put glasses back in proper spot and hold reading matter as far away as arm will allow; no maybe the tip of the nose again.
Catherine is rejoicing because, well, like nearly everything else I do, my eyewear calisthenics are embarrassing. (Sadly, the kid is right; I caught a photo of myself taken during a holiday party, in which I was doing the glasses thing trying to read the gift I’d just opened. It was not terribly attractive. And believe me, I need all the help I can get.)
The eye doctor assured me my eyes are behind schedule for this big change. “They are aging rather slowly,” she said.
I just hope they alerted my other vital organs to the schedule.