My arm is sore, and I’m starting to suspect my glasses.
I’ve been wearing glasses since ninth grade. The lady came to school, and while she set up the eye chart, I said, “Let’s fail the test on purpose.”
Then I proceeded to fail the test.
Faraway things were my problem. I’m not blind, but without my glasses, the world is a colorful Impressionist painting.
Early on, I wore them only when driving. They were transition lenses that got darker in the sun, so I looked halfway cool.
Now, I have trifocals but still take them off to see something close-up. That’s what I suspect is happening to my arm: too much taking off and putting on.
My wife started wearing glasses a few years ago. She can still see far away but needs them for reading and playing games on her phone.
I like the way she looks over the rims when she’s talking to me. She’s got this whole hot librarian vibe happening that I appreciate.
I’m ashamed to say that I was happy when my wife started wearing glasses. It had nothing to do with the way she looks and everything to do with the way she sees.
She inherited her father’s fighter-pilot eyes. I inherited my mother’s astigmatism. I must admit that I was jealous of the way she just went about her day, looking at things as though it were the easiest thing in the world to do.
Our daughter has worn glasses since she was a toddler. I have precious memories of her scrunching up her face as she looked at me in the cutest way.
These days, she wears them sometimes and not other times. She seems to get by. I would do the same if I could pull it off.
I suspect my arm is hurting because I take the glasses off to read something and slip them back on too quickly. It’s twinging my elbow.
Theoretically, I’m beyond the age of riding water slides, which is kind of a relief because I always had to make a decision about how much I wanted to see.
Even now, whenever I see a commercial for a water park, I plan what I’d do with my glasses. It’s silly to think that way, especially when I have no intentions of actually visiting a water slide.
I do the same for amusement parks. If I see someone on a roller coaster on TV, I picture myself in the seat, figuring out how to keep my glasses from slipping from my hands and falling from such great heights.
My in-laws live in a lovely part of the country, and that’s afforded us several river rafting trips. The last time, I put my glasses in their case and put that in a small wet bag that I slipped into my pocket.
For most of the ride, the world was an Impressionistic ride past blurry rocks and trees.
During a period of calm water, I put them on and enjoyed a more detailed look at the rocks and trees that I’d been missing.
Deep down, I appreciate my glasses. I wonder about people born centuries ago who couldn’t see exactly what was around them. It couldn’t have been the best recipe for survival.
I suppose I’m lucky to live in a time when relatively inexpensive technology makes the fuzzy world clear.
As for my arm, there are probably exercises I could, but probably won’t, do.
