What's An Old Baguette To Do?

I've read for years. I've sounded out words written on paper, cardboard, wood, metal, and plastic. I've deciphered the scribbles and scrawls of family, friends, physicians, and skywriters. If a word were written with pencil and graphite, pen and ink, typewriter and ribbon, I was sure I could read it. What hubris!

My fall from pride came when I was seven. My family took an extensive and adventurous driving tour of the American Southwest. To get from one scenic attraction to another, we had to take many unpaved roads. Every few miles we'd have a flat tire. Believe me, that was adventure. Tired, cranky, we'd eventually get to the scenic attraction, and what would we see? Signs. Signs here, there, seemingly everywhere. Signs covered with words I couldn't read. I was humiliated. Years later, I again visited those same scenic attractions. The roads connecting them had been paved, so we had neither flat tires nor adventures. At the scenic attractions, however, those humiliating signs were still there. Could I read them? Of course not! They were in Spanish.

Relieved of the pressure to read words in languages foreign to me albeit not to others, I've read whatever I could put my eyes upon: a book, a cereal box, a parking ticket. As I gradually baked into the Old Baguette that I am today, reading became less and less of a spectator sport. I must be a marathoner to run through anything longer than a recipe before I doze off. I must be a wrestler to pin that book down into a firm hold lest it slip from my grip to the floor. I must be a weightlifter to keep anything heavier than a greeting card within my line of vision. I must be a major league hitter to connect with the words bouncing off the page. Since I wasn't an athlete when half baked, I can't expect to be an athlete now. Just what is an Old Baguette like me to do? Sit by and let my faculties dwindle? No, no, and again no. An Old Baguette like me should purchase a Kindle. (And, if you don't know what a Kindle is, google up eReaders.)