Confession
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I grow old . . .I grow old . . . I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. -T.S. Eliot My "old lady" eyes As much as it pains me to admit this, I need bi-focals. I don't want them. I refuse to get them quite yet, even though I mostly certainly need them six months ago now. I am not going down without a fight, my friends. This visual degeneration starts subtly enough. Threading a needle becomes more challenging. Fine print seems even . . . finer. At restaurants, you start holding the menu just a tiny bit farther away. And then farther still, until you've nearly set it ablaze against the candle on your table. Yesterday I was shopping with my friend Becky and spotted some cute plates for kids. I peered at the microscopic words on the back of the plate. I held it closer to my face and then farther away. I tilted it towards the light. Finally, dejected, I handed it to Becky. "Can I put this thing in the microwave or not?" She glanced at th