It started innocently enough: A minor squint. A subtle shift to better light. Then I found myself struggling to see the minuscule drop of blood forming on Isabella's black ear. I turned the ear this way and that frantically searching for the telltale glint. The final blow was the syringe - those damned half-unit marks are so tiny. Surely no one could be expected to see them readily. (Never mind that six months ago I was able to.)
I knew I couldn't get help until I admitted I had a problem. So, I said it out loud: I need reading glasses.
Such ugly words.
Last Sunday I trekked to the drugstore display of magnifying readers. After much trying on of different brands, strengths, and frames I settled on these:
They're innocuous and the do the job. The first time I put them on, Isabella stared with wide eyes. "What's that lady up to?" The glasses have found a home snuggled inside the diabetes box. I use them only for blood-letting and syringe filling. OK, maybe I'll sneak them out when I have to use the phone book. But that's it. I'm not addicted.
If it wasn't for the damned diabetes, I wouldn't have reading glasses. And even though I know it was inevitable, even though I know I was able to go without for longer than most of my friends, even though I know it's not the cat's fault...
I'm blaming the cat anyway.
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