My eyeballs are bloodshot. And I'm not on drugs. I just spent the last fifteen minutes-no exaggeration-with my fingers poking around for missing contacts.
I had just awoken from a nap and figured that the sleep made them suction cup to my eye (just trust that it's happened before. And it F'ING HURTS). As I looked in the mirror I saw a little ring around my iris and began to grab for the elusive soft lens. During the following minutes of wailing and gnashing, Matt offered patient advice and Ashley phoned in support from her movie-viewing room.
The temper tantrum I threw could shame small children.
As I picked up the contact contraption to further bemoan the cursed lenses, I noticed something catch the light.
My contacts, actually.
Because I had already taken them out.
While I was peeing.
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