Got a TV eye on me.

I have one more spectacle-related (spectacular?) story.

Last Friday, I went to R&J’s house, where, for legal reasons, absolutely no recreational drug use took place (by statement which I mean to imply absolutely no irony). Then, we went to the Deadwood and met some of J’s girlfriend’s friends. I was introduced to a girl we’ll call Ragweed, who shook my hand and said hello. Then, I was introduced to another girl, who we’ll call Dead Fish. Since I’d already shook one hand and thought it protocol, I extended my hand in greeting. After a few seconds, she took it up without enthusiasm, and without making eye contact with me. I thought she was kind of a bitch, really. She stared at her elbows and gave me one of those limp-fish fingers-only handshakes. We sat down, and J and I yelled at each other over Dead Fish, who sat between us.

“I went to the eye doctor,” I said. I explained I’d bought plastic glasses, and was roundly accused of being a hipster. Then I said, “It turns out I’m a little bit walleyed, so I need a prism on my glasses so I don’t have to strain so hard to see.” I put my fingers on the sides of my head and put out my fingers like those googly-eyed novelty glasses with the eyeballs on springs and wiggled them about. “My eyes point in different directions.” It wasn’t necessarily all that funny, but J and I started laughing a lot.

After about ten minutes, J told me, “Hey, come to the bathroom.” I hesitated, but he told me it he had something really funny to tell me. So we walked over to the pinball machine, and he turned to me suddenly and said, “I don’t think you noticed, but, Dead Fish has a lazy eye!”

The moral is, don’t say anything, ever.

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