How much gas is in YOUR tank?

I hesitate to even bring up today's subject, chiefly because it makes me feel old, which I am not, although my body is continually contradicting this belief. As the Apostle Paul said, I keep pressing upward toward the prize, only for some reason my body believes that the prize is membership in AARP, and it is intent on hastening thereto, although of course that event is actually DECADES -- maybe even CENTURIES -- away.

Due to this marching-on-to-AARP business -- having been unable to see great distances most of my life, I now find myself also unable to see anything at the other end of the spectrum -- I visited my new eye doctor, who, although he seems to be competent in his field, was almost certainly never voted Most Popular in school, or even anywhere in the top 500. He noted, with some pride, that his college-age daughter is so kind as to inform him when he is being especially geeky, which I imagine is more often than she wishes were necessary.

But he informed me that although my eyesight betrays my age, my eyes otherwise are very young and healthy. "I believe we could even say," he said with an air of generosity, "that you still have a lot of gas left in the tank." This was a surprise, as it had not occurred to me that there might not be a lot of gas left in the tank. But later I was greatly reassured by his assessment, particularly when I went to get new glasses and was helped by a salesperson who hinted, more than once, that he has much more gas left in the tank than someone my age, and talked with ease about all the features a person my age should have in her eyeglasses, which he can certainly know nothing about personally.

It was also a reassurance when I was discussing this with my fellow editors at work, many of whom are somewhat younger than me, meaning they are about 12. They looked at me with alarm, like they might have to cart me off to the nursing home sometime soon. I imagined them going home after work and calling their great-grandparents, asking what accommodations they might need to make for older people.

Having had my new progressive lenses for a day or so now, I can tell them what accommodations are needed. For starters, all stairways should be immediately outlawed. It is impossible to tell, with progressive lenses, where exactly the next step is, and indeed there may be some brief confusion as to whether the step is going up or going down. Second, objects within a radius of 600 feet must be removed, lest you bump into them because you think they are over there when they are in reality right here. Nearby persons should also be warned to steer clear, and when you look at them, they should not be insulted if it takes you several moments to adjust your head so you can see who they are. But the good news is that all of these modifications are necessary only during the adjustment period, which can last up to 18 years.

To compensate for having to get older people lenses -- and mindful of my still-plentiful tank of gas -- I got a rather hip pair of frames, which at least help me look cool even as I am bumping into things. I am sure that should my new lenses cause an accident on the road sometime, those involved will be wowed by my new look.

And who knows, they might even whisper in awed tones, "She's got a lot of gas left in the tank."