So there I was, sleeping. The toddler ripped my left lens out of my glasses, bent the frame, and hid the lens. We looked for that thing for a week as I endured old contact lenses and bloodshot eyes.
Mom does not like having the pacifier hit the floor, so attached it to some clamp thing that attaches the pacifier to the little outfits with a lanyard. The kid holds the pacifier end and starts swinging the lanyard, blindsiding me in the left eyeball with the clamp thing. Pain. Blood red. Wife cannot look at me without turning away in horror.
Four days later to the eye doctor to get a new prescription for glasses. There the doctor informs me that my eye, in fact did close, and was rolling up into my head as the blow was landed. No permanent damage. The human body is amazing to me.
Then to Sears, without the wife, because I do not want input on which glasses I want. I want two pairs because I kind of think that I’d like to have a spare pair around the house, say, in case civilization breaks down in the next few years. I pick out a pair of frames that I like and hand them to the lady behind the counter, saying I want two sets.
She responds that if I am getting two pairs of glasses, it makes no sense to get two of the same style. You can’t get away from this crap. So I spend the money for two new sets of glasses.
And then the kid brings back the original lens. Now I have three pairs of glasses.