Hello Middle Age

I have to get glasses. I swear I fought the good fight.  I did everything I could to avoid it but there comes a point in every person’s life when they must accept eventual mortality.

In nightmares I’m being held down by a group of women in their late 40's and forced to wear a pink hat. Meanwhile a gallery of red-hatted women 50 and over drink white wine and murmur words of sisterly encouragement (see Red Hat Society). In reality, I’m in an eyeglass shop in Limoges being offered the facial equivalent of a red hat, the midlife female version of a snazzy sports car - a pair of estrogen-red eyeglass frames.  Putting them on, all I can think is “What ever happened to Sally Jesse Raphael?”

Luckily I’m in France where interesting eyewear is a way of life and the choices are endless.  I know because I’ve tried on every pair.  How do you say “chic yet nerdy,”“stylish but not trendy,” “I have a personality thanks, and don’t need to buy one to help me drive better at night” in French?  At the same time I don’t want to completely discard the idea that the ultimate lunettes will make me appear to be a more interesting person and therefore improve not only my vision but my entire life?

I move on to Aixe sur Vienne, thinking that perhaps Limoges is trying too hard and maybe a shop in a smaller town will be more selective. I find a cute Italian pair on sale.  In case I need further proof that I am inching towards dotage, the opticienne is practically a child. When did they start allowing doctors, lawyers and police officers to be so young? I manage the eye test in French and hope for the best.  On the way home I drive a stick shift for the first time and pretend the Ford Escort’s a sports car.