Friday, October 28, 2011

Bifocals. I haz dem.

I thought it was bad when my latest Eager Recruit looked at me with huge eyes, and exclaimed, "You're even older than my dad!"


Fortunately I have an eye doctor who is a shooter (even if he looks too sodding young to have actually gotten a medical degree) and he's tweaked my new cheaters to give me 20/15 vision in my shooting eye. The thought that I might actually be able to see the 500 yard target has eased the sting of OMFGBIFOCALS!!! a tiny bit.

The no-line progressive lenses are giving me fits, though.

My old glasses are darn near a decade old, and are were scratched and hazy to the point it's a wonder I could see the
Exxon Valdez, much less anything else, so just walking around is fantastic ...

... And then I glance down and my feet are a nasty little blur -- until I crank my chin onto my collar-bone, and hey! There they are!


I am assured that the Human Brain Is A Wondrous Thing, and that the blurring as I flick my eyes around the various distances in my field of view will be gone in two weeks.

And my lady loves the new frames.

So, all in all, I'll call this one a win.