I Can’t See Shit.

I want to believe it happened gradually. 

That little by little I eased gracefully into middle age; that I did not react as my parents did to the aging process. But it seems that overnight I am my Dad, making a face at a restaurant bill, pulling it closer, pushing it farther away, squinting, giving a “What language is this bill in?” look to everyone at the table. My mouth downturning and opening, as though maybe if I stretch my face long enough I’ll be able to see how many entrees we were charged for. Then, after examining the bill for ages, I declare indignantly and to the entire restaurant, “I can’t see shit!”

Because I can’t. I can’t see shit.

So I got reading glasses, which I am always searching for, walking into rooms and, just like my Dad, asking loudly and existentially, “If you were my glasses where would you be?”

Some kids grow up and remember their mother’s lovely humming or their dad whistling show tunes. Mine will remember my constant murmuring, “Read these couscous instructions to me, will you?” 

And what else is to come? How else will I age like my parents? Just how deeply devoted to Costco will I become? Will I disavow Judaism and, like my parents, join the cult of Rachel Maddow because she is the one true omniscient leader? 

When my kids scoff at my aging complaints, will I, like my Dad, loudly, and in front of their friends aver, “Oh, you don’t think this will happen to you, asshole!?!” 

This is not a criticism of my family. My parents are great people with enviable senses of humor. They’re living their best, semi-retired lives and are happy. They’re devoted grandparents, have loads of friends and endless social opportunities. I should be so lucky to become my parents!

But I hadn’t envisioned myself driving very far out of my way for only slightly lower gas prices and then talking about that savings for days to come. Will I start flipping through Chico’s catalogues and secretly thinking, “Not too shabby, Chico’s. Not too shabby indeed.” Will I come home with a strange-length, full-price Chico’s tunic because I could see neither the size nor the price? 

Because I can’t see shit.

….and three, two, one, that’s my Dad calling. Cause I am that asshole who didn’t think it would happen to her. And my Dad deserves this I-told-you-so moment.

Seriously, though, have you seen my glasses?