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Dear Gentle Readers, I know you are not going to believe what you are about to read (unless you are planning on reading something other than the rest of this post).  When last I left you in the great and epic “Case of Paula and the Contact Lenses” saga, I had managed to find the errant lens that had jumped off my finger as I was trying to put it on my eye.  Please keep in mind that I am basically one-handed (have I milked that enough yet?), and deserving of all your pity owing to my pitiful “(one)hand/(one)eye” coordination.  As The Old Ancestor has told me – that pun is definitely intended.

I’m relating this story to all of you, my readers, before I have told my husband.  Since I can’t see your faces, I’m not quite as abashed as I will be when I either tell him about it, or he reads this.  What can I tell you?  It happened again – sort of.

When I finally realized that I wasn’t going to get anything more done on the creative front last night, I decided to at least try to get some sleep.  Dutifully I put on my PJ’s (like it’s my duty?  Why did I write that? Hmmm. . .), and washed my hands in preparation for removing my contacts – that, I am happy to tell you, were STILL IN PLACE, after the astonishingly long time of three hours.  This time, I was sitting upright on my bedside, feet firmly planted on the floor. I had my little lens case, the left section open, clean, filled with new solution, ready to welcome the lens from my left eye.  It was so easy!  You would think I had been following this routine for years!  No problem!  I reached up and retrieved the little guy and dropped him into his pool, and screwed the cap back on for his night of rest. (I think contact lenses are male.  Females wouldn’t give me the kind of trouble I’ve been getting.)

One down, one to go!  Now, here’s where lenses prove they are male: I opened the right section – the blue half with the big “R” imprinted on top, and saw it was safely in place and ready to receive.  I reached up, and again, as easy as pie (although, in my defense, pie is not exactly the easiest dessert to make), retrieved the lens from my right eye.  I held it over the lens cup, and then, I SWEAR! It disappeared! Talk about “in the blink of an eye!” Panic mode set it.  Please, please, please!!! You are not going to tell me that you, you little stinker, have bailed out on me again????? Not a word.  No apologies from naughty little lenses.  Zip, zilch, nada.  I couldn’t find it. 

I lightly ran my hands over my face, neck, pajama top, and the sheets and blanket around me. No lens.  I widened the search area, feeling perhaps he had taken a more athletic jump from my finger.  No lens.  Then I really opened the search area to include the floors, the walls, the bedside table – everywhere.  No lens.  It was then that I figured I would have to get up from the bed – very carefully – and do a hand/knee search. As I stood up, I turned the ceiling light on in the room, and lightly shook out my PJ’s, hoping to see it stuck somewhere on the fabric.  Still, no lens.

I decided after several minutes of vain searching to just give it up for the night. Surely, it was still here in the bedroom.  Lenses don’t have legs of their own, and I certainly hadn’t walked any out of the room, so I told myself to relax, and search again in the morning, after making absolutely certain I was not about to lie down on top of it. I sat down on the bed edge again, and brought my legs up and around to stretch them out.  Just as my legs rose up, I saw, drifting down from the hem of my PG’s, a little bitty paper-thin contact lens. Ah-HAH!  Found it!  I knew it couldn’t have gone far!.  So I picked up the little sucker and plopped him into the case, and the last time I checked on them, both the boys are still swimming there.  I’m just about to take them out and put them to work, though, so please keep me in mind. Looks like I’ll be needing all the help I can get!

Hope I get enough. . .

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