And that was it. No easing into it. No “come back in six months and see if it’s got better”. Just “It happens. You’re getting older. Suck it up”. Or words to that effect.
I remember the week distinctly. It was the same week my boss commented on my receding hairline.
Naturally, I wanted to tell him to “go away” if you get my drift but seeing as he was responsible for making sure my pay packet had something in it each Wednesday, I decided silence was a wiser choice than a knee-jerk verbal reaction.
That’s not to say anyone else who mentioned my follicle challenges didn’t cop some retribution from yours truly.
A youngster in the football team I was coaching at the time found that out the hard way when he commented in a loud, squeaky voice, “Mr Page, you’ve got a hole in your haircut.”
As I say retribution was swift and he didn’t mention it again. Nothing like three laps of a football field in the cold and rain to pull someone into line.
Anyway.
I mention my tale of physical deterioration not to suggest bits and pieces are falling off me left right and centre but to illustrate some of the changes one has to endure each time our little bit of rock circles the sun.
This week the Earth completed another circuit, and it was time for me to get a new pair of glasses.
Now if you’ve been following my weekly warblings for a while you’ll know Mrs P and I have chosen the path of early retirement and are currently living in a caravan.
Although it might sound like we’ve got spare cash coming out of our ears, the truth is we are having to keep an eye on costs – just like many others are having to do at the moment, I’m sure.
So, when the email came from the eye people telling me it was time for a check-up, we did the sensible thing and hopped online to see who, if any, of the glasses people in the town where we are currently domiciled, had a special on.
Now a quick bit of background here. Late last year both Mrs P and I paid for eye tests with one particular outfit but decided not to go ahead with any eyewear purchase. Thankfully we kept the results which showed our required lens prescription on two identical test cards with individual results.
Our plan therefore was to take the test cards to another outfit, at a time that suited us better, both physically and financially, and see if we could get a better deal.
We waited for a special to come up, as previously mentioned, and when it did, we leapt at the opportunity.
Well, I say “leapt”, it was probably more “meandered” in that we chose the last day of the sale to go in and get sorted. The last afternoon of the last day of the sale to be exact. So naturally it was all a bit of a rush.
I just grabbed my test card and headed for the car.
Twenty minutes later, in I go with the results of my last eye test and consequent lens prescription in my hand.
I’m met by a very professional young lady who helps me find frames and then we get down to the nitty gritty. I have to have an eye test, she says, so they can work out my correct lens prescription.
Quick as a flash I whip out the card with my previous results etc. She shakes her head. I need a new eye test. I shake mine. No, I don’t.
Momentarily there is a Mexican stand-off as we both try to stare the other down.
Eventually I win. Sort of.
She takes my existing glasses and the card with my results and goes over to a machine off to the side.
My vision is blurry, but I can see her checking my glasses under a big microscope thing. Then she calls someone over for a second opinion. Then someone else for a third. There’s a bit of frowning going on.
By this stage I’m thinking something might be seriously wrong. I’m right.
“We’ve had a look at your current glasses and the results of the last eye test,” she says with concern. “They really are very different which is a bit of a worry.”
I’m about to seek further detail as she continues when I hear her utter the magic word – “Free”.
I go into automatic nodding mode. They are so worried they are offering me an eye test for free.
As I say, Mrs P and I are watching pennies carefully at the moment so I know She Who Must Be Obeyed will be pleased I’ve not spent any money – yet – and got something for free.
So, off I go for a free eye test.
A short while later, after I’ve looked at all sorts of letter, number, colour and dot combinations in a darkened room, I am given the bad news.
I need corrective lenses way beyond what the previous eye test recommended. In fact, they’ve tossed it aside completely and given me a complete workup just so there is absolute clarity – see what I did there – and there is no confusion.
Still in a bit of shock if truth be told – I mean it’s not every day you get told your eyesight has deteriorated dramatically since the last test you had six months ago – I accept their recommendations and stump up for some new specs.
Perhaps sensing my state of shock, the kind young lady offers to give my existing glasses a clean and tidy before I depart. I’m thankful because since we moved into the caravan two or three weeks ago, I’ve not been able to find my cleaner spray. Consequently, they’ve become a bit grubby and misty.
The sobering experience at an end, I wearily trudge to my car and call Mrs P at home base to explain.
Eyesight’s not great. Significant deterioration since last test. Blah. Blah. Blah.
As I’m explaining it all to her, I’m holding the card with the results of my last test in my hand, my newly cleaned glasses presenting all the details in crystal clear view for the first time in a couple of weeks.
That was when one rather important word, a name in fact, became significantly clearer.
Mrs P and I have the same first initial and thanks to my dirty glasses I’d given them the card with her eye test results from six months ago instead of mine.
