I couldn't get used to the bifocals. I gave it a valiant effort, I swear. I put 'em on and didn't take 'em off for a week, even though my old glasses were crying to be given another chance. "Just give it time," I kept telling myself. "You'll get used to them."
In the meantime, I was slowly losing my mind. My distance vision never cleared up. I couldn't find that magic spot where everything looked clear. I bobbed my head this way and that, tilted it at this angle and the other, pushed my glasses up my nose and down. Still blurry. I became cranky, crabby, cross, and declared to everyone around me that getting old SUCKS.
Finally, after a week, I went back to the eye doctor. "I've really tried," I said, "but I just can't get used to these. I think the prescription is wrong." He checked the lenses... and sure enough! In one eye, they were off by 1/2, and in the other one, 3/8. "You'd have NEVER gotten used to these," he reassured. "They're quite a lot weaker than they should be."
The next day, I slipped on the corrected lenses and the fuzzy clouds that had gathering in my brain evaporated. I could see. CLEARLY! I busted out into my favorite song... "I can see cleary now, the rain is gone.... gonna see all obstacles in my way..."... and bounded out of the store with youthful energy. Old, Shmold!