What the %$@*!
So I’m working the other day and I need the correct spelling of the word “precocious.” Instead of using spell check, no, that would be too easy, I reach for my handy dandy Websters! I should have just used spell check.
Ever grab a dictionary to look something up and start reading all the other words, until you forget what you were actually looking for in the first place? If you’re hoping to win first prize in a spelling bee this is a good, time killing habit to have. If you don’t like being insulted while you work, this is a very bad habit to have.
pres-by/o-pi/a – (presbys – OLD) a form of farsightedness occurring after MIDDLE AGE, caused by blah, blah, blah… I’d read enough. Simply wanting to familiarize myself with a word, that, as it turns out, Lana Mohr (or should I say, Dr. Lana Mohr Weaver – she’s an eye Dr. now) probably is very familiar with, I had, instead, been thoroughly insulted.
(Note to self – once report is finished, google “presbyopia” for further info.)
While it was the word “farsightedness” that had initially caught my attention – for months now, whenever I pick up anything to read, it’s as if I’ve taken up the trombone, because I have to slide the material away from me to see it clearly. But it was Mr. Webster’s reference not once but TWICE to “old” and “middle age” that really rattled my cage! Nobody needs that kind of harassment in the workplace!
I am NOT old! I do not look old. I do not feel old. I do not play the trombone. So why does Mr. Webster insist that I am? Besides, I have always had not 20/20 vision but rather 20/15 vision, which as Rodney McKelroy knows, would have qualified me to be a fighter pilot. I would have made a better fighter pilot than a trombone player. But now, I can be neither because apparently I’m past the minimum age requirement for the military (that is unless Dubya lowers it again this month like he did last month) and how could I march with a trombone with these old, feeble legs?
Around the time I first started noticing my strange new fuzzy affliction, I made a comment in passing about it to a friend who felt perfectly comfortable blurting out, “You’re old, we’re all old and we all need glasses! Katie Couric had the same problem when she turned 40. We’re not sixteen anymore and we can kiss those days goodbye!”
Okey, dokey then. Thank you for sharing. Somebody get me a Rick Springfield album!
So, I guess this is how it all begins. Fuzzy vision today, crows feet tomorrow. But I’ll tell you this much – I will not go softly into that good night! While I won’t be rushing out first thing Monday morning for Botox, I do plan to fight this thing with all my might. I will be nipped, tucked, plucked and dermabraised before I’ll be caught dead in Mom jeans! I will give Cher a run for her money if it kills me! She looks really good for ninety, don’t you think? Same with Demi Moore. The Pepsi generation will rule the geriatric ward!
Thanks to those wild and crazy baby-boomers just before us, they say that 40 is the new 20. In that case, I’m free, white and 22 and I’ve taken up the trombone.
And if I “see” Dr. Mohr at the reunion, she better not dare tell me I need glasses!
G. – the still “very young” G.