Call Me Granny

My eyes have finally had it. They’re starting to go. Glasses are just around the corner. Working/Facebooking/writing on the computer all day, reading messages and web info on my phone, staring at the TV a couple of hours a night (whether I’m actually watching it or just letting my mind wander), and then actually attempting to read some good old-fashioned print before going to sleep at night are taking their toll, and these peepers are weary. Now that Brad and I are grandparents, though, I guess glasses will just further confirm what is already known:  age happens.

Should this upset me? Because it doesn’t really.

While it bums me out that my ocular strength is no longer enough to get me comfortably through the day, I have to say that the things I enjoy about middle age probably outnumber the things that bother me. Among the best parts is the fact that I do not give a rat’s ass if I have to start wearing glasses like a granny. I’m fine with looking more “mature,” because I am (usually). I can be comfortable with not looking perfect because it is just too damn late to look anywhere close to perfect at this stage. I’ve been in the sun a lot, had a lot of delicious meals, enjoyed countless beer-soaked good times, and I hope all this continues. Besides, the shopper in me is actually kind of excited to get to pick out some cool frames.

While I may not be choosing glasses that share the same moniker, I’ve decided that I would love for little Jade to call me Granny. I think it is the most youthful and vibrant of the grandmother names. Also the most kooky and eccentric. Brad and I agree that our favorite kind of old people are the slightly nutty, free-spirited, no-bullshit kind, so we’ve started practicing a little already and hope to do the wacky-senior thing justice when we get there.

Oh, and I hereby promise never to tell a younger person, “Honey, don’t ever get old,” because it drives me nuts when old people do that. What’s the alternative?

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