eye glasses over 40

About the time I turned 40, my eye troubles became serious. I was checked out at a fancy eye clinic and I was fitted with one pair of glasses for $350. Ouch. I was pleased though, because for the first time in several years, I saw things that had been hidden from me.
I saw the grey hairs in my beard and the small holes in my face. Because I lose things, as a precaution, I also bought a $25 drugstore special pair of specs that worked just as well. So…when the fancy pair became scratched, I started to use the generic brand almost exclusively.
Throughout the next year in Almaty, as if someone was spitting on the lens of my camera, my eyes quickly became much worse. When returned to the States in the summer, I called Dr. Fancy and she laughed when I suggested that the drugstore glasses might be accelerating the deterioration of my vision. She probably thought I was simply another newly old guy trying not to admit that his parts are wearing out. Whatever…I bought another cheap pair and I was happy.
After another year, my eyesight had become disgusting. Holding a book at the normal reading distance while sitting at a table, I couldn't read a thing without intense concentration. My wife urged me to make another eye appointment. I'll deflect the responsibility to her because everyone knows it's not fair, and untrue. This time I went to Eyeglass World, a place that runs dozens of people through each day.
During the examination at the supermarket of eyewear, it was clear that I was farsighted—I could read things that are a fair distance away, but nothing up close. I thought that meant that I needed to get bifocals. The helpful people at McGlasses didn't think to tell me that such glasses are a huge adjustment—they just asked me if I wanted them. The cost of these glasses was again over $300, but this time I received three pair. I cynically believe that they may have had visions of the higher cost of the complicated spectacles clouding their efforts toward customer service. Unfortunately, I didn't get around to making this appointment until I was nearing the end of my summer stay in Iowa; therefore I didn't have time to realize that I hated the new glasses before I left the country. In Almaty, I suffered miserably when descending stairs because I didn't know which lens I should look through. Friends who wear bifocals simply said, "Yeah, stairs are a problem." Luckily, I still had a couple cheapies.
All is not lost, though. Now I have three back-up pair that will serve admirably in a pinch. Such glasses fill the role of spinach on a road trip taken by William Least Heat-Moon in his van. William traveled lightly traveled Blue Highways searching for America's soul. Before the road trip, a friend gave him a can of spinach "so that there would always be something to eat." The idea was that he would never eat the spinach until that unforeseen time when he was out of food, far from civilization, with no money. How are bifocals and spinach related? I will wear other glasses (the cheap drugstore variety) until I have lost every pair. At that time, I will still have three tools of obfuscation ready to step up.