Shakespeare Ate My Glasses

The CulpritBastard.

I have 20/10 vision in both my eyes, which means my vision is exceptional and I don’t really need them, but still.

For many years, I’ve kept a pair of drug-store glasses with 2.0 magnification on hand. I can read small print just fine, but I always use these so I don’t have to. I figure the less unnecessary strain I put on my eyes, the longer they’ll last.

It may not actually help at all, but it must not be too bad an idea, considering the vision I’ve got just before my fortieth birthday. Previous generations in my family wish their eyes had done so well.

Anyway, back to Shakespeare. I got out of the shower a while ago, and looked down on the bedroom carpet, and there lay two lenses from a pair of glasses. I panicked at first, thinking he must have gotten hold of my wife’s glasses, which are real prescription ones. That would have been more expensive, so I’m just glad that they were mine.

It took a few minutes to locate the frames.

Cheaters Or what was left of them, I guess.

It really is a good thing I love the little sucker.

(I guess the silver lining is that this post reminded me to reset the camera date before I forgot again.)

Honestly though, sometimes I just want to give him a good swift kick in the butt.

I don’t, but only because we’re friends. He’s my bud (when he’s not destroying stuff, anyway).

Demon Dog

Santa brought him like a bazillion chew toys, an old pair of shoes, the works.

He prefers the linoleum of the bathroom floor, shoes that we actually wear, the bottom of shelf of my desk, the knobs on the little pine dresser in the bedroom.

And apparently reading glasses.

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