Getting old?

It hasn't been a good start to the year for the T'ED household.  Rather jittery in fact, what with the stalking and all that. 
What?  Didn't you hear about it? I suppose it didn’t exactly make the evening news, perhaps because it was not a GENUINE stalking, though it seemed terrifyingly real at the time.  So real that I had to beef up our security (that is I gave Mrs Ed extra rations of stew), change our door locks (which I had planned to do as soon as my son left for Cape Town anyway - that's a no-brainer) and self-administer vast quantities of calming medicines to keep my nerves under control (fortunately there was a six-pack Black Label special on at the time). 
I suppose Mrs Ed is to blame -  because she's the one whose fault it is that I end up reading at  night…..
Sorry, have I confused you now?   Let me explain.  My eyes are going er… a little out of focus, because I read at night.  It has nothing whatsoever to do with my age.  I am still exceptionally young and healthy and there are many more years ahead before my body shows any sign of time-related deterioration.  That will happen at sixty eight or so.  Now I am only 45 and at the peak of my physical prowess.  
Except my eyes.  At first I got myself into a panic (which is almost as bad as a Skoda).  I was convinced that I had caught a rare (and exotic, no doubt) neuro psychosomatic eyeball disease, probably reserved for the exceptionally well-knowledged members of the human race.  “What a pity to be blinded in my prime,” I commiserated, working as swiftly as possible on my memoirs so that mankind could at least have the benefit of some of my wisdom before my 'lights went out' so to speak.
But then I read in a magazine that most eye-focusing problems occur as a result of reaching middle-age (which is definitely not a symptom I am anywhere near coming close to) or eye-strain, because of reading in bad light. 
“Aha!” I said to myself (I do that rather a lot) (actually I say it to anyone within ear-shot, but it seems that I am the only one who answers “What?  What is it that you have discovered in your ever-increasing wisdom?”, so my “Aha!”s are mostly directed at myself.)
“Aha!” I said, for the second time (just to remind you where we were)  “That must be the cause.  Such young eyes as mine being forced to strain because of all that late-night reading!” I mentally berated Mrs Ed.  (just in case she was in ear-shot.  You don't want to find yourself AUDIBLY berating Mrs Ed.  It's just not safe). 
I suppose you feel I'm being a tad unfair  blaming my missus for my failing eyes -  but once I have explained I'm sure you will agree I have good reason.  You see Mrs Ed is a night owl.  That's her words.  I thought ‘night-vulture', or 'night-dodo' or 'night-Christmas turkey' would be more apt, but once again, that was only in my head. 
So being a night owl, that's when she wants to talk.  And talk. And talk. At night.  Sort of 11.30pm-ish.  Normally this does not present a problem.  I can simply roll onto my side, turn out my light, and concentrate with my eyes closed.  Admittedly this annoys her a bit on the rare occasion that I snore and she realizes that I'm not giving her my undivided attention.  But normally, once she has dug me in the ribs and woken me, I can merely suggest that such an important conversation should be given more time, and might I suggest reconvening at say, six thirty the following morning?  This puts paid to any further physical harm she may be contemplating. 
But things are different when I have a good book.  When I have something I'm really enjoying reading I can't just roll over and sleep.  I want to read.  And of course if the light is on she will see that I am reading, and intensify the volume and pitch of her yaddah yaddah yaddah until it is impossible for me to concentrate.  This dilemma was solved many years ago when I discovered that when the light was off, if I angled my book and body correctly, I could just make out the words by the dim glow coming under the bedroom door from the bathroom.  This has worked well for most of my married life, but in the last year or so it is getting more and more difficult to focus on the pages.
But I have digressed terribly, I was talking about my 'stalker' wasn't I? (There will be a connection in all this, I promise.)  The first time I saw said stalker was at 'The Drift', a place along the Knysna River where you can picnic on the banks and relax with your family (is that possible?) with very few other people around.  Actually I didn't see HIM - the stalker - in person, but when one of the family members later sent me some photographs of the excursion, there he was.  This exceptionally flabby, lily-white, balding man, hanging about in the background.  I was taken aback.  How rude!  He had really encroached on our 'space'.  In fact in the corner of one picture I could just make him out HELPING HIMSELF TO OUR COOLER BAG!  But, though angry, what could I do?  I mean even if I did find out who he was, and where he lived, the chances of getting the beer back would be somewhat slim I'm sure.
But a short while later he appeared again, this time at the beach.  He was like a ghost!  Once more I didn't remember actually seeing this rotund ball of reflective flesh -  I would certainly have remembered it if I had, and probably sent Mrs Ed over to give him what-for.  But as per the last time, there was photographic evidence sent to my cell phone by a friend who had joined us there.  There he was - the stalker - lying on one of OUR towels! Right there - among us, taunting us - he was even reading my Bay Watch Weekly magazine!
Of course I couldn't say anything to the family.  The man was obviously toying with us, and who knows what his intentions were.  But things really came to the crunch a few days later  when someone posted pictures of our family at the Knysna Rocks concert on Facebook… and there he was again.  My heart dropped like a stone and I instantly started sweating. One of the pictures showed my daughter, sitting on this stalker's shoulders!  I could barely speak    
“L-L-L-OOK AT THIS!” I finally stammered, “The barefaced cheek of it! It's absolutely disgusting!”
“Yes dad,” my daughter replied, waving an admonishing finger at me “You really shouldn't take your shirt off in public….”
T'ED'S new year resolutions:
 1) Get glasses
 2) Lose weight
 3) Get a tan
 4) Consider hair implants
 5) Beat up anyone with a camera
 6) Hunt down and destroy the creators of Facebook.