Monday, August 29, 2011

The end of my contact story

I gave up. Oh quiet you! You don't know how much I tried! I spent fifteen minutes a day jabbing my eyes in-front of the mirror- FOR FIVE DAYS! It just wasn't working. I'm dreading when my Optometrist calls and asks me what happened. He was so impressed with me, he called me a "young dude". Now he'll know I'm just a spazzy old-lady trapped in a man's body.

Speaking of which, I'm looking into getting something like these for when I'm bike riding:

You know the kind. They fit over your spectacles. Or maybe these tasty devils:

Betty White digs them:


She may also pistol-whip you if you disagree.

And if you think I'm joking, I did go into the Chemist and ask. The girl didn't know what the hell I was talking about. Lousy whippersnapper.




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