It must have been an election night in 2006 because I can’t think of any other reason why four reporters would be sitting around the newsroom late at night waiting for news to happen.
Our ages ranged from mid-20s to early 50s. We were all bleary-eyed, to the point that the two veteran reporters had removed their glasses and were deep in conversation about the reading glasses you can buy without a prescription at Longs Drugs.
The youngest guy in the group looked at me and said, “That’s going to be us someday.”
It didn’t take long for that some day to come for me.
The problem started when I realized I couldn’t read the wire without practically pressing my nose against the screen of my company-issued laptop. Needless to say, I didn’t want my screen covered in noseprints and while I debated whether or not to lower the resolution on my computer, the glasses conversation came back to me.
As I schlepped over to Longs, I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care if I was old. I have a lot of respect for those two bespectacled reporters and if their off-the-rack glasses helped them do their jobs better, maybe they would do the same for me. Being able to read is a big plus in the news biz.
I tried on several pairs and finally settled on the least unattractive of the bunch. Honestly, I didn’t think they were that bad until a few hours later when a friend teased me and said, in essence, that I looked like an old lady.
I whipped off the glasses and resumed squinting at my computer screen.
Unfortunately, my son heard this whole lighthearted exchange and realized that I’m a wee bit sensitive about being called old.
At first he was sympathetic and pointed out that I don’t have gray hair. My first mistake was telling him that I dye it. My second was not having dyed it recently, which meant that he could find gray hairs on my head and he took immense pleasure at pointing out each and every one.
I found myself back at Longs picking out a shade of cherry Kool-Aid tinted brown dye. Why? I don’t know. It must have been because I wanted my daughter to start teasing me about being old, too.
Actually, she was just offended that I didn’t pick a shade of brown that would match her hair.
She didn’t get into the old thing until Glasses 2.0.
Yes, I’m vain enough that I went out and bought ANOTHER pair of reading glasses when I was confronted with a full page of tiny text that needed proofreading.
Apparently, I should have been even vainer and gone to an optometrist and paid mega-bucks for a prescription pair just to have my pick of fashion frames. If I had done that, I might not have had to endure my four-year-old’s hysterical giggles at the sight of me in glasses.
I just rolled my eyes and told her, “Someday this is going to be you.”
