Birthdays and prison pen pals Sooooo, I turn 50 on Sunday, Feb. 27, and shit is getting real. I woke up last Tuesday, and my vision is worse.
No joke — like, overnight. I’ve always had fabulous vision, then a few years ago I needed readers. No big deal. Today, things are blurry far away.
It’s like my eyes said, “Happy birthday Bitch! You are gonna need to get glasses.” Then on Thursday I get an envelope in the mail from the AARP.
It’s like the entire world is saying, “Buckle up ho. You’z about to die of old age.” In all seriousness, I don’t feel 50 — whatever that is supposed to feel like.