This morning, I woke up at 5:30 like I always do. Rolled over and slept for another 15 minutes, like I always do. Finally, at quarter to six, I got up and got dressed to walk the dogs. I sashayed into the living room to greet Wilbur and what do I find? A 2 oz. bottle of contact solution chewed open and drained of its contents.
Normally, I would have lost.my.mind. Because this means that someone was in my purse. But alas, my purse was on the dining room table, where I'd left it the night before, and was seemingly untouched.
I don't want to say that I didn't care but, quite frankly, I don't care. There are worst things, right? It's just saline. And I hope that the culprit gets the shits. That'll teach them better than anything I could do.
Besides, thanks to the timothy hay I finally bought for Wilbur, my left eye looks like someone stuck a dirty poker in it. All sexy and inflamed. I couldn't get a contact in here if I tried. And I did. That's how I know.
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