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Chapter 4. 
Phoenix
Copyright, all rights reserved 12-4-98
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"As we grow old we become both
more foolish and more wise." 
–Rechefoucauld 
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     The trouble with turning fifty is that you know that you need bifocals but you just have trouble remembering to make an appointment to go get them.
     It was bad enough that he had hit the half-century mark, but why did they have to throw him a surprise birthday party decorated with all of that black crepe paper and allusions to the nearness of death plastered all over the walls?  Besides that, if one more person said to him, "Hey, Jack, is that Rome burning or is that just all the candles on your cake?" he would have to shoot to kill.  It's enough to have to walk through the door of another decade of your life, but who in the hell wants to be pushed through it.
     On the day of his fiftieth birthday, Jack Avery was not a happy camper.
     Then there was his wife, Toodles.  That was not her real name but it was one that had been given her ever since high school.  He had met her while still in college and they were married shortly after his graduation.  How could it be possible that they had already observed their twenty-sixth anniversary together?
     Toodles wanted to celebrate it.  Jack thought that observing it was more than enough.  This birthday party was her revenge.
     It's true.  Their relationship had been a long one, at least by today's standards, but it wasn't a happy one.  Tradition and history are thin strings to keep two people tied to each other, but it was all that they had left.  In fact, they had perfected endurance and compromise to the point that no one else was the wiser.  Their marriage was an uncomfortable truce at best.
     As far as Jack was concerned, the first several years of their marriage couldn't have been better; the middle years couldn't have been worse; and the last few years had been absolutely horrible.  Her take on it was pretty much the same.  She woke up every morning with a scowl on her face and it was still there every night when she went to bed.  Whenever he attempted to touch her in any way, she responded with a coldness that could instantaneously freeze a burning ember.  Her anger toward him resided just under the surface and had a way of popping it's ugly head up at regular intervals.  In a funny kind of way he still loved her.  He just didn't like here anymore.
     Well, let's get back to the birthday party.
     After all, Toodles reasoned, the big lug was turning fifty.  Why not invite all of their friends over to help her rub it in a little.  Her smile widened into a grin as the evening wore on.  Everything was progressing wonderfully from her point of view.  She was content to fade into the background while others jabbed and chided her ageing husband for her.  Vindictiveness was her game and she was good at it.
     It was the gift that changed everything.
    Jack was an armchair athlete and a certified spaceship captain who constantly hugged the living room television (large screen with surround sound, of course).  Although, in a supreme gesture of self-centered kindness he did purchase a little sixteen-inch portable for her to watch in their bedroom.  It was his way of letting the "little woman" watch whatever she wanted to, whenever she wanted to without getting in his way.  Yes, Jack was quite a guy.
     Although, it could be said of Jack that he was painfully consistent.  Every weekday evening he would pull his car into the garage fully expecting dinner to be hot and waiting for him on the table.  After stuffing himself with seconds, it would then be time to hit the recliner, grab the remote control (and it had better be where he'd left it), and turn the old home theater on full blast.  Furthermore, if the phone rang, well, that was Toodles' responsibility.  Don't you just hate it when you are watching something really good on the tube and one of the kids calls long distance wanting money or someone phones you from work with an emergency?
     The early bird went to sleep alone each night while the night owl cheered on his favorite team or spent the late night hours going where no one has gone before with steely-eyed androids and pointy-eared aliens.
     Okay, back to the gift.
     Toodles gathered the party of a dozen-or-so who were still enjoying their drinks, as well as her husband's chagrin, around the coffee table.  Her brother Charlie, the computer whiz (everyone should have a brother like Charlie), carried the unboxed components out of the bedroom where they had been carefully hidden.  After several trips, the top of the table was covered with all of the newest technology.  It was all there; the computer itself, the keyboard with the attached hand rest, a remote control mouse, a monitor with stereo speakers attached to the sides, and something called a "joy stick."  Charlie doubled back to the bedroom and came out once more.  This time, he had a large box in each arm filled with all kinds of software sporting little tags of birthday greetings from most of those in attendance.
     After everyone finally left, Charlie stayed behind and helped Jack set everything up on his desk in the second bedroom.  After a crash course in personal computing (thanks to brother Charlie), he learned enough of the basics to boot up and click on his favorite programs.  Now he could play all of his favorite sports interactively and traverse the universe without ever leaving the room.
     Over the next few days, Toodles reveled in her successful ploy to regain the living room television.  Her husband seemed to be completely caught up in the joy of clicking and going crazy with his new joy stick.
     What made it even more enjoyable for her was that he was grabbing his dinner and taking it into the bedroom with him.  She had finally figured out a way to get rid of him and have her evenings back for herself.
     Jack was happy, and for the first time in a long while, so was his wife.
     It even got better when that free internet cd arrived in the mail.
     Being a "newbie" on the internet is like getting to be a kid for awhile all over again; like being allowed to roam the aisles of the toy store all by yourself.  Every time you turn around, there are countless shelves filled with all sorts of new things to play with.  Jack finished the installation process and clicked on the internet.  It would be a few weeks before he realized that he hadn't played any of his games.  He was hooked.
     Surfing the web was his first choice of toys to play with.  He discovered a couple of magazines at the drug store that listed various web sites by categories and he found himself spending every evening visiting one after the other.  He tried everything from the serious to the risque'.  He was absolutely in awe at the volumes of information framed in the most amazing variations of content and graphics.
     One of the magazine articles mentioned something called a ‘search engine'.  Calling up one of these gives the user the ability to type in any topic and the engine does the rest.  It searches the entire world wide web and locates any site that pertains to the topic of inquiry.  He couldn't believe the thousands of entries that came up related to the subjects that he was curious about.  He was an explorer  and the new world that he had discovered seemed to be absolutely limitless.
     There was so much more: The files of his own internet service were filled with news services, chat rooms, bulletin boards, member entries, etc.  The list went on and on.  There was no end to it all.
     Toodles was as delighted as Jack.  She had no idea what he was doing in there every night.  All she knew was that she had the television to herself.  In fact, she almost had her freedom back again.  She would mention to him that some of her friends were stopping by and he would just nod, make some short comment like "That's nice," and go play with his computer.  He had always been the type that just couldn't stand his evening being interrupted by a "bunch of cackling hens" (his words).  Now it didn't seem to matter.  She even found it easy to step out for an evening, whereas before she was expected to always be there for him.  He was completely absorbed with his new toy and he didn't seem to care what she did anymore. It was fine with her.  In fact, it was wonderful.
     At some point during his romp through the many facets of the internet, Jack decided to investigate what was behind  the ‘chat' icon.  With one click of the mouse, he found himself looking at a little window on his monitor asking him to enter in a nickname along with any other self-descriptive information that he might want to include.
     After a few minutes of trying to come up with some kind of creative name, he thought back to the day of his fiftieth birthday.  His life had just about flat-lined on him and now he was having a wonderful time.  He recalled the ancient myth of the phoenix bird that fell to the ground, died, and then miraculously came back to life again.  That would be it.  He typed the word "Phoenix" into the appropriate blank, filled in the state where he resided, and in the interests blank he wrote, "To live, to laugh, to love; for I have arisen from the ashes and am alive again!"  It was dramatic, but it really was the way he felt.
     Taking his first stroll through the streets of Chatville took the better part of an evening.  The temptation to check out the "flirty-dirty" rooms certainly intrigued him but his curiosity drove him on to sample every other room that seemed even half-way interesting.  Curious names described the interests of those visiting the rooms; everything from "After-Hours Chatters" to the"Women's World" was listed.  Multitudes of nicknames hovered in the different rooms and attics chattering away the hours with each other.
     It took Jack a few evenings to get up the courage he needed to jump into the middle of a chat.  On that particular night he was in the "Michigan" room and noticed a nickname that brought back memories of a car that he had owned as a young man.  He typed two letters on his keyboard, hit "enter", and took his first step into becoming a full-fledged citizen of Chatville.

          Greeter:            "Phoenix" has entered the room
          Mustang70:      hi phoenix
          Rosebuddy:      hello phoenix
          SoulToucher:    Hello Phoenix <s>
          Corvetteman:   phoenix, r u there man
          Phoenix:           hi
          TheBoss:          phoenix...where from
          Phoenix:           Grand Rapids
          Rosebuddy:      <—a Lansing lady
          TwoLips:          ypsilanti girl here
          Mustang70:      isn't phoenix in arizona <s>
          TheBoss:          am north of you in Muskegon
          Phoenix:           what does <s> mean
         SoulToucher:    <s> means a smile
          Mustang70:      so does this - :-)
          Phoenix:           Oh, I see <s>
          Corvetteman:    :-(
          TwoLips:           Awweeee, poor Cman

     Although Jack would go on to check out a number of chat rooms, it was this one that would become his favorite hang out.  Over the next few months he stopped by to visit nightly.  He only missed an evening on rare occasion.  Soon he began to figure out who the regulars were and eventually became recognized as one himself.

          Rosebuddy:     how old is phoenix
          Phoenix:          Is 50 too old
          Mustang70:     only as old as ya feel :-)
          TwoLips:         is mustang really 70
          Phoenix:          I do feel more like 40 <s>
          Mustang70:     that's not my age, silly
          Corvetteman:   <<<57
          TheBoss:         the corvette or the man?
          Corvetteman:  the man :-P
          Rosebuddy:     geez, sorry i brought it up <s>

     Those whom he came to know as room regulars were from all walks of life and represented various lifestyles and attitudes in life.  There were those who were the kind of people common to his own experience; a school teacher, an accountant, a couple of housewives, a bank clerk, a few young people, and a retiree.  A few professionals enjoyed stopping by and chatting also.  There was at least one medical doctor ("DrWhitty") and a college-level math professor ("MisCalculatn").  There was also a certain free-lance writer and poet that Jack and the regulars particularly enjoyed.  Talking with people one wouldn't normally meet in the real world is one of the many attractions of chat.

          Greeter:           "O'Henry" has entered the room
          TheBoss:         {{{{{{{{O'Henry}}}}}}}}
          O'Henry:          hello fellow-travelers
          SoulToucher:   Hello, sculptor of words <s>
          Mustang70:      hi writerman
          O'Henry:           <—speechless
          Phoenix:           hi there, ohenry
          O'Henry:           greetings, friends
          O'Henry:           special hi to the phoenix <s>

     Even inner-city convenience store owners did not have the opportunity to talk with so many diverse individuals.  As an everyday man he felt the exhilaration of actually being able to converse with people he would never meet otherwise; perhaps even in a lifetime.  Besides that, Jack was fast becoming a welcome chatter in the "Michigan" room himself.  Not only was he proving to be a friendly contributor to the conversations but his three semesters of high school typing classes made him a little quicker than most and that is always a plus in chat.
     Up to this point everything was going  great.  At least, it seemed to be but it was only a surface kind of thing.  It was much easier to shove unpleasant thoughts out now that he had found a way to help him forget about his thinning hair and dimming eyesight.  He wasn't prepared to be distracted from his new distraction, but that is exactly what happened next.
     Well, who knows what it was that caused him to do a quick double take.  Actually, she just seemed to float into the room.

          Greeter:     "LadyMirage" has entered the room

     Until this moment he had been chatting with classic car lovers, flower ladies, and authority figures.  He perceived them as a group of middle-aged baby boomers who just liked to shoot the breeze and have a good time yackking with each other.  Yet, the mood of the whole room seemed to change when she slipped in; at least as far as Jack was concerned.  Another man might not have looked twice but her wispy nickname immediately got his attention.  His curiosity kicked in and then turned into boldness; followed by a bad attack of raging testosterone.  Fifty-year-old men need to be careful when having a testosterone attack.
     He noticed that after a few of his fellow-chatters politely greeted her, that she seemed to silently ignore them.  She obviously went straight to the attic where her nickname quietly hid itself on the room list between "Corvetteman" and "Mustang70."  Afraid that she might leave unexpectedly, he decided to get her attention and welcome her to the room personally.  As he clicked the icon that would signal his request for a private chat, his fingers began to quiver as they raced across his keyboard.

          Phoenix:           hi <s>
          LadyMirage:     oh, hi
          Phoenix:           noticed you entered the room
          LadyMirage:     how nice...thank you <s>
          LadyMirage:     i noticed you too
          Phoenix:           wow...really?
          LadyMirage:     tell me about yourself
          Phoenix:           <—Jack
          LadyMirage:     a pleasure to meet you Jack
          Phoenix:           the pleasure is all mine
          LadyMirage:     <s>
          Phoenix:           and you are?
          LadyMirage:     i usually don't share that info...
          LadyMirage:     but for you i will..
          LadyMirage:     <—Lucinda
          Phoenix:           Lucinda...a very pretty name
          LadyMirage:     thank you <s>

     It started off innocently enough.  How much more innocent could it be?  All they had done so far was introduce themselves to each other.

          LadyMirage:     so, Jack, are you married
          Phoenix:           no, not anymore

     There it was; he told a lie.  It would have made no difference at all it he had just told the truth.  After all, what was he going to do?  How do you have an affair with a faceless person who probably lives on the other side of the state or even the country for that matter?  Yet, there was always the slim chance that something more might come of it and Jack figured that it was at least worth a try.  It's amazing how one can justify absolutely anything if there is something personal that might be gained from it.

          LadyMirage:    then are you divorced
          Phoenix:           yes
          LadyMirage:    how long
          Phoenix:          three years
          LadyMirage:    <—single <s>
          LadyMirage:    so...how old is Jack
          Phoenix:          45

     Truth has a way of breaking up into little bits and pieces and then getting discarded one part at a time.  This being the case, our man Jack was doing  fine.

          LadyMirage:    i am 39 <s>

     It was a close call.  He reasoned to himself that, had he told her the truth about his age, she might have bolted for the door.

          LadyMirage:    i like older men
          Phoenix:          so glad you do <S>
          LadyMirage:   why 45 is just purrrfect <s>
          Phoenix:          may I see Lucinda more clearly

     Jack patted himself on the back.  Her cute response to his supposed age encouraged him to try to learn more about her.  The usual approach to ask a woman to describe herself was, "what do you look like?"  He wondered if she would answer him.  There was a long pause and he almost typed in "r u there" when her response popped up on his monitor.

          LadyMirage:    5'7", dark hair, shoulder-
                                length, big dark green eyes,
                                36-22-34, long legs, pretty
                                face
          LadyMirage:    do i pass?
          Phoenix:           wow!  I guess you do <s>
          LadyMirage:     <s>
          LadyMirage:    and what does Jack look like

     It was his last chance to redeem himself.  With all the fervor of a man on a mission, he failed.

           Phoenix:          6', 175 lbs., brown wavy hair, brown
                                   eyes, trim, nice looking, athletic,
                                   a weight lifter
          LadyMirage:    mmmmm...you sound so sexy <s>

     Actually, he wasn't too far off from the truth; at least, in his own mind.  He was really of medium height at 5'9", overweight at 195 pounds, gray hair mixed in with what was left of the brown, in shape as long as he sucked it in and held his breath, average looking by anyone's standard, an armchair athlete, and the only weights he lifted were fork-fulls of food in sets of twenty, several times a day.
     Their first encounter lasted for almost an hour.  The best that could be said about it was that, at least from Jack's point of view, it was a very successful exercise in exaggeration.  Some would say that he simply stretched the truth; others might say that just out and out lied.  Jack would have agreed with the previous group.
     At any rate, they exchanged e-mail addresses and agreed to meet again in the same place at the same time the following evening.  In chat it is called "making a connection" and that is exactly what they did.
     Jack became a budding Casanova.  His notes to Lucinda were both poetic and passionate.  He would create a room for her under "Unlisted Rooms" and wait for her each night.  At exactly ten p.m., "LadyMirage" would suddenly appear out of thin air and call out his name in the "Jack Loves Lucinda" room (the password was "romance").  Their meetings eventually became more intimate.  If on-line relationships could be listed in order of intensity, then theirs would definitely be approaching top ten status.  At least Jack was confident that this was the case.
     He barely noticed that he no longer had the time to throw a game in the cd-rom and crank up his joy stick.  Surfing the web had become just a once-in-awhile kind of thing.  Even his new friends in the Michigan room missed seeing him as often.  Jack lived for that one hour each evening when her nickname would appear on his monitor screen and they would touch each other in their special room.
      Although, these things to tend to have a pattern.  You can only go so far in a relationship with chats and e-mails.  The temptation to ask for her phone number so that he could actually hear her voice got to be overwhelming.

          Phoenix:          Lucinda
          LadyMirage:    Jack?
          Phoenix:          i want to ask you something
          LadyMirage:    please go on
          Phoenix:          well...
          Phoenix:          can I phone call you
          LadyMirage:    oh please forgive me Jack...
          LadyMirage:    i would rather that you wouldn't
          Phoenix:          please...i wouldn't pressure you
          LadyMirage:    no, Jack, so sorry...really...
          LadyMirage:    i just don't give out my number here
          Phoenix:          okay...no problem

     It was the same feeling he had when he was a kid striking out in a Little League game.  He threw down his bat and retreated to the dugout.  She had eluded his attempt to move the relationship from Chatville into the real world.  Further attempts were just as fruitless and the hope of ever meeting her face to face appeared out of the question.  It's impossible to get to second base when you can't even manage to hit the  ball and touch first.
     A coincidence is nothing more than a chance happening based on being in the right place at the right moment.  This particular one would not have occurred but for Jack's annual bout with the flu that kept him home for a few days.  With Toodles watching the store and little on the tube to interest him, he signed on and decided to investigate what the afternoon chatters were like.  The list of names in his favorite room were unfamiliar with only a few exceptions.  He felt like a stranger.
     Much like his first night in the chat room those many months ago, he retreated to the attic just to observe.  Then it happened.  Someone named  "Dreamie" mentioned that there would be a chat luncheon the following Thursday and that everyone was welcome to attend.  Jack had no idea that such events even occurred.  He requested a personal chat with "Dreamie" and asked her for more information.  She asked for his e-mail address and promised to send him all of the details as well as directions to the restaurant.  He felt silly about it afterwards.  Since it was a luncheon, he wouldn't be able to attend because of his work schedule.
     The next evening he checked his mailbox and there was the note that had been promised to him.  The name of the restaurant, the time, and the directions to it were all included.  Furthermore, a list of the names of those who had already committed to attend was supplied.  Several nicknames with the user's real name in parentheses were included.
     There in the middle of them was "Lady Mirage (Lucinda Grimes)."
     Jack's chin hit his keyboard.
     Immediately a plan began to formulate in his mind.  He knew that he would have to make the chat luncheon now even if it meant taking more time off from work.
     He also determined that going incognito would assure him of an opportunity to meet Lucinda without her knowing it.  If all went well, he reasoned to himself, he would then surprise her and reveal himself.  The whole idea was too tempting to disregard.  Jack Avery was not a man to pass up such an opportunity.
     Lucinda never mentioned the chat luncheons to him.  Although he thought this strange, he took extra care not to mention to her that he would be attending the next one.  There was one moment during one of their evening chats when he nearly weakened and spilled it out, but he was able to recoup nicely and keep his secret safe.

     The snow lightly dusted his overcoat as Jack made his way up the sidewalk into the Lansing Diner.  He was surprised to find that his hands were shaking.  The anticipation of finally meeting his Lucinda was starting to hit him.  For the first time he felt the tension of the last week as he hung his coat up on the rack in the restaurant foyer.  He pushed back his hair and straightened his tie as he considered the possibility that, when all was said and done, he may not even be able to reveal himself to her.  He might not have a private moment to share with her and that would be hard to deal with.  Regardless, he would now at least know exactly what she looked like and even that was worth the deception.
     A hostess greeted him and he followed her to the section of the dining room that had been reserved by the chat group.  It surprised him that, of the seven he counted who were gathered there, all of them were women but one.
     A sweet looking middle-aged woman stood to greet him.  She introduced herself as Lana "TheBoss" and immediately Jack recognized this lady whom he had enjoyed chatting with on numerous occasions.
     It was then that an unexpected crisis threatened to blow his cover.  Lana asked him to introduce himself to everyone.  He could have shot himself.  Of course, they would want to know his name and also his chat nickname also.  Why hadn't he thought of this before?
     As he struggled to control his nerves, he weakly smiled.  His eyes quickly scanned the room for anything that would help him keep his true identity a secret. 
     "Hello, everyone," he said, "I am Bill Booth and I am so new to this chat stuff that you probably wouldn't recognize my nickname anyhow."
     The overweight guy with the big double chin pressed him to tell them his nickname anyhow.
     Jack glanced at the next table and then quietly muttered "Reuben" under his breath almost sure that no one would buy it.
     Everyone nodded, although quizzically, and smiled back at him.  He was in.  It was by the skin of his teeth, but he had made it.
     It just so happened that there was only one chair still unclaimed at their table.  As he made his way to it, Lana introduced the rest of the group to him.
     The short brunette sitting next to Lana was a friend who just came along with her out of curiosity.
     The large man wearing the suit and crooked tie was known to everyone as "O'Henry."
     The thirty-something looking woman with the huge mane of red hair was "Rosebuddy" and the tall thin blonde with the big earrings was "TwoLips."  He smiled to himself when he thought how funny it was that these two looked so much like he had pictured them.
     The two women sitting directly across from him could not have looked more different from each other.  The one that caught his eye first had a captivatingly exotic look to her; large deep set eyes, large sensuous lips, and a full head of raven black hair that dropped down over her shoulders.  This must be "LadyMirage."
     Jack's stomach did a quick flip-flop when Lana introduced her as "Dreamie."
      The chubby, plain looking woman to her right was "LadyMirage."
     It is hard to convey in words what a man feels like when he has visualized someone in a certain way only to find out that his dream lady looks entirely different–in this case, literally.  The more he looked at the woman who had so successfully infatuated him, the more she looked like something the sleeping mind produces after one has eaten something disagreeable.  Oh, she wasn't really that bad.  It's just that his expectations were higher and now he was experiencing a  kind of shock; the kind that comes when you realize that you have seriously been lied to.
     After exchanging a few pleasantries, Jack found himself quite willing to fade out of the conversations taking place around the table.  As the chatters turned their heads from side to side to take part in the various things that were being said, he just listened and nodded his head whenever it seemed appropriate.
     As a matter of fact, he was a little put out after awhile when no one seemed to notice that he was still there.
     His ears perked up, though, when Lucinda began to relate to whatever-her-name-was ("Dreamie") how that she had all of these torrid internet romances going on at the same time; how that, whenever she was on-line, she would get message after message from all of these guys who wanted to chat with her.  She went on to describe the fun she had opening up her mailbox to find "floods of passionate little e-mails (her words)."  Then came some off-handed remark about them all being "poor little helpless babies."  Jack noted that it was said in that cutsie little tone that women sometimes use, but it had an air of arrogance about it that he didn't like.
     The few bites that he had taken out of his chicken sandwich were good but, by now, he just didn't have much of an appetite left.  His heart was already in his stomach and there wasn't much room left for anything else.
     His discomfort intensified as Lucinda continued on with her description of some of the men she had met in the various chat rooms.  The only one she seemed to really like was some guy whose nickname was "Sperminator" or some such idiotic thing.
     The final straw came when she underestimated the ability of the stranger across the table from her to have excellent hearing for a middle-aged man.  She got up close to the dream lady and whispered, "But this one guy who calls himself "Phoenix" is the biggest jerk of them all.  His real name is Jack–thinks of himself as the Jack of hearts, but he's more like a joker!"  Then there was this gale of laughter followed by a short little after-lunch hiccup.
     That did it.  It was all he could endure.  Enough was enough!  In a flash of anger, he stood up and blurted out, "If you're just a mirage, I'd hate to get stuck in a doorway with the real thing!"
     Lucinda's eyes dilated to the size of golf balls and her head jerked back in shock.
     The dream lady volunteered a stunned, but sarcastic, "Well!"
    All of a sudden, everyone at the table froze in silence except for O'Henry who went on jabbering about some poem he had just written.
     From the far end of the table, the boss lady sheepishly asked, "I'm sorry, Bill, but is there something bothering you?"
     Still glaring at Lucinda, he muttered, "Yeah, life."
     Then he picked up his bill (a brother to the one he had named himself after) and excused himself.  As he walked away from the table he could hear a chorus of disturbed voices fading behind him.  He payed the man at the cash register and headed for the foyer.
     After throwing on his overcoat, he paused at the door, took a deep breath, and made a feeble attempt to shake off his anger and disappointment.
     He walked out of the restaurant and stepped into the cold chill of another wintery day.  The freezing wind hit his exposed face, but it was alright.  It was a perfect day to relearn an old lesson.  Jack reminded himself that deception is a two-edged blade and it cuts both ways.
     Mr. Avery got back into his car and drove down the freeway as the light snow brushed against his windshield.  As he pulled into his driveway, he remembered that he had been putting off calling an optometrist for an appointment to get his eyes examined.
     "Maybe my head too," he said out loud to himself.
     Have you ever noticed how much easier it is to see things close up more clearly when you are wearing bifocals?
 

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