My husband, Young Geezer, is several years younger than I am. This gives him the distinct advantage of having someone close at hand who has recently experienced the horror of declining physical abilities he is just now discovering. Eyes, for one thing.
" The only thing worse than not being able to see close up any more," he said, "is not realizing you can't see close up any more." He picked up a piece of "lint" from the floor, only to discover it was not lint; it was a spider. A live spider.
I tried to stick to my role of sympathetic, experienced Older Geezer, but it was hard to do, given that I was choking to keep from laughing. I think I made some appropriate sympathetic noises, then I gave him my best, hard-earned advice on the matter: "Always poke lint with a stick before you pick it up. If it moves, don't pick it up." (Of course, we could don one of the many pairs of annoying little reading glasses that we have stashed all over the house--but how adventurous would that be?)