My mother-in-law lives a way away and isn’t very mobile. ‘A’ had kindly volunteered to pick her up so that she could see her new granddaughter. And that meant me taking her home. Ninety minutes there at Ninety and Ninety minutes back. But that was fine. What wasn’t quite so good was the realisation that when I’m driving I tend to blink less. I determined that when, on the return leg, my right contact lens leapt from my eyeball. I decided that if I could find it, I would pull over. Afterall, when I put them in they’re the size of dinner plates. How hard could it be? After two minutes molesting myself and weaving across lanes, in a decision that made perfect sense at the time, I resolved to drive on, squinting through my good eye if I thought there was anything worth looking at, like other cars.
On miraculously arriving home, there it was, now a shrivelled transparent raisin, nestling in my crotch. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.
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