Leafing through the catalogs that fill my mailbox is actually something I look forward to each year. But one of these slick volumes of shoppers' eye candy struck fear in my baby boomer heart and opened my eyes to my future. Its cover featured a pair of cozy slippers and the obligatory "Free Shipping" stamp to encourage large orders. As I browsed its pages, I saw several items that I thought looked very useful—like the large-numbered digital talking alarm clock and the plethora of magnifying devices. Bejeweled pillboxes shared pages with pillows embroidered with cute sayings and expensive jars of rejuvenating crèmes containing "SmartPeptides."

Then I looked more closely at the cover. It was labeled "AARP Privileges" and its title signified its target as those needing help with "Independent Living," a politically-correct synonym for "getting old and needing help." Needing help is not a bad thing—it's the admission that I have trouble with.

Judging from the gadgets that filled this catalog's pages, I need help. And I can get it by ordering one of the dozen or so magnifiers. The selection of watches, all with numbers large enough to actually read, was amazing.

I flashed back 20 years ago or so to my mom's ketchup watch. She always wore it even though we'd bought her more attractive models. It had very large numbers all the way around, not just at the 12, 3, 6 and 9 locations. A bright red ketchup bottle swept constantly around the face keeping track of the seconds. She had begun to have vision troubles, and when she saw it advertised, she started saving ketchup labels. It was the only readable and reasonably-priced watch she could find at that time.

Baby boomers won't have to resort to wearing a watch with a ketchup bottle on it (unless, of course, they are into retro). I found the "Czarina's One-Button Talking Watch" attractive with its faux diamond bezel and bright red leather watch band. Even with its crisp, no-nonsense numbers, wearers have the option of pressing a button to hear a "clear female voice" announce the time. And its price was less than 50 bucks!

Technology has made getting older more attractive and less obvious for this generation. I can't say I'm looking forward to the day I'll need the computer keyboard with bright yellow keys and a typeface 4 times the regular size. Or the precision eye-drop guide. But for now I draw the line at the pierced earring converter, designed to make pierced earrings into clip earrings. Any woman who was a teen or pre-teen in the 1970s will remember the rebellious assertion of youthful independence that went with getting her ears pierced. Clip-ons were for our mothers' generation.

Although I am approaching the age when the intricacy of sliding a post or wire through the tiny holes in my ears is a burden, I'd rather they remain unadorned than resort to wearing what, to me, will always proclaim old age.

The column solely represents the opinion of the writer.