glasses Archives – Lisa Scottoline

by Lisa Scottoline

Size matters in only one thing.

Night tables.

I’m on a quest for the perfect night table.

This quest began forty-odd years ago.

I’ve looked for the perfect night table longer than I’ve looked for the perfect man.

Honestly, only one is essential in a bedroom.

Let me explain.

I started life with a really small night table, and I would put my glasses on the night table and they would fall off instantly, usually face down.

I scratched glasses nonstop.

I would pick them up if I was still awake, but if I was too tired, I would leave them there. And step on them on my way to the bathroom.

Plus I never had enough room for a real-sized lamp, which I needed to read.

The night lamp is itself a quandary.

If you get one that’s big enough to read by, you won’t be able to reach the knob and turn it off when you want to go to sleep.

And if you get one that’s too small, you’ll stop reading because it’s too hard on your eyes, then you’ll start scrolling Instagram and end up hating yourself.

The only thing instant about Instagram is self-hate.

I actually don’t know if the pretty shiny people on Instagram are real.

If they are, do they scroll Instagram and end up hating their lives, too?

To return to point, in time I learned that lamp size didn’t matter because inevitably, the dog would fall asleep on my arm and I didn’t have the heart to move him to turn off the lamp anyway.

I’d lie wake in the brightly-lit bedroom, only one of us snoring.

Any true dog lover knows to stay put when your dog falls asleep on you.

Like, our dogs teach us to stay.

The other bad thing about my too-small night table was that I had to stack my books on the floor, where they would be ready for me to slip on when I went to the bathroom.

It wasn’t a bedroom, it was a booby trap.

And I was the booby, trapped.

So at some point I started using a big-ass night table, which was actually an antique card table I had for years.

At first I was excited. I could put all my books on it, and a big-ass lamp, a big-ass Yeti of ice water, and a big-ass jug of Cetaphil. My phone charger would be closest to the bed, plus the lint roller in case I found a tick on a dog before bedtime.

What, you don’t lint-roll your dog for ticks before bed?

Must be nice.

To return to point, I just fell out of love with my big-ass night table.

It was so big that I would hit my hip on it every time I got up to go to the bathroom. Not only that, but what I learned from having the big-ass night table is that you use only the three inches closest to the bed.

The rest is just clutter you can’t reach anyway.

A night table that you makes you get up defeats the purpose.

Also the dog told you to stay.

So the quest continues.

By Lisa Scottoline

What’s the difference between accepting yourself and giving up?

I’m talking of course, about going gray.

Because that’s what’s happening.

I’ve had glimmers of gray hair before, but it was concentrated on the right and left sides of my head, which gave me a nice Bride-of-Frankenstein look.

But I’ve been working so hard over the winter that I haven’t bothered to get my hair highlighted, and today I noticed that there’s a lot more gray than there used to be.

And you know what?

It doesn’t look terrible.

Also the world did not come to an end.

In fact, nothing happened, one way or the other.

But before we start talking about going gray, we have to talk about going brown. I seem to remember that brown is my natural hair color, but I forget. In any event, sometime in the Jurassic, I started highlighting my hair. It was long enough ago that highlights didn’t require a second mortgage.

But no matter, some women are vain enough to pay anything to look good, and she would be me. I figured my highlights were a cost of doing business. In fact, I named my company Smart Blonde, so highlights were practically a job requirement, if not a uniform.

In fact, maybe highlights are deductible.

Just kidding, IRS.

(I know they’ll really laugh at that one. They have a great sense of humor.)

Anyway, my hair appointment for new highlights is tomorrow, but I’m really wondering if it’s worth it. Not because of the money, or even the time, but because I’m starting to accept the fact that my hair is not only secretly brown, it’s secretly gray.

And so I’m thinking, maybe I should just let it go. Accept that I’m not only going gray, but I’m going brown, which I used to think was worse. And that maybe I should just accept myself as I am.

Or, in other words, give up.

Now, before I start getting nasty letters, let me just say that I love silvery gray hair on people. I know women who look terrific with all-over gray hair, but mine isn’t all-over yet. It’s coming only in patches, which looks like somebody spilled Clorox on my head.

You know you’re in trouble when your hair matches your laundry.

Also, my gray hair is growing in stiff and oddly straight, so it looks like it’s raising its hand.

But that might be my imagination.

And before you weigh in on this question, let me add the following:

I’m also deciding whether to start wearing my glasses, instead of contacts. Yes, if you check out the sparkly-eyed picture of me on the book, you’ll see me in contacts. Actually, I took them out right after the photo, because they’re annoying. Fast forward to being middle-aged, where any time you’re wearing your contacts, you have to wear your reading glasses, and so one way or the other, glasses are going to get you.

And I’m starting to think that’s okay, too. In other words, I may be accepting myself for the myopic beastie that I am.

Which is good.

Or I may merely be getting so lazy that I cannot be bothered to look my best.

Which is not so good.

Because in addition to gray hair and nearsightedness, I also accept that I don’t have the answers to many things. For example, I just drove home from NYC and I don’t know the difference between the EZ-Pass lane and the Express EZ-Pass lane.

Life isn’t always EZ.

Big-Ass Night Table

Column Classic: Shades of Gray

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