It's time for new spectacles, and PawPaw has an appointment with the eyeglass doctor in a couple of hours. It's been too long, and at my advanced age and decrepitude, it's something I'll have to schedule regularly from now on. When I was working for my Uncle, it was something that he took care of regularly, but in the intervening years, it's something that I let slide.
One thing that I will not do is choose frames. I look through spectacles, not at them, so I really don't care what my frames look like. The Army used to issue me black, horn-rimmed glasses and those suited me fine. Milady knows that if left to my own devices, I'd pick out the cheapest, ugliest frames on the wall. She'll meet me for lunch and we'll pick out some frames that she isn't ashamed to be seen in public with.
I've successfully resisted bifocals so far, but over the past year I realize that my reading-distance vision is fading.
Getting old ain't for sissies.