I chat throughout my day with friends online. We live in a world of almost constant communication and business never rests, so the opportunity for a lunch or break of any kind comes few and far between. Or not at all. The periodic chat with a friend helps break up the day without having to take more than a minute or two away from email. Helps morale. And some times, a good memory comes up.

______________________________

Patrick:  so tell me something

.

me:  Are you following that up with a question that you want an answer to, or are you asking me to tell you a story, joke, etc?

.

Patrick:  story

.

me:  Hmm….okay….

So, I’ve had glasses for more than half my life. The first time my folks allowed me to get a more expensive pair, one that I could pick out myself, however, was when I was about 15.

I was so excited and had waited for them to come in for, like, 2 weeks, which to a 15 year old girl is an ETERNITY.

I picked them up on a Saturday and almost immediately headed over to Joanna’s wearing them, much to the shargrin of my folks.

.

Joanna and I were going to camp in her back yard, in the sand of her volley ball court, which was surrounded by dense forest.

.

Patrick:  ok

.

me:  Our friend Jeremy lived next door, so he was having Tommy and Brendon over, and they were going to sneak out and camp with us – no hanky panky on my part, I was just good buds with those boys.

.

We go out, play all night, wrestle, talk, split a beer so we’re all “drunk”, play music, whatever. Kids crap.

.

I wake up in the morning and …

                                                           …where are my glasses?

.

Where are they?

WHERE ARE THEY?!

                                                                                                                           Fuck, they’re not here.

.

Oh, my god, my folks are going to kill me.

.

HOLY CRAP!!!!!

.

                                                       ….but what are you going to do?

.

After a couple of hours of crying and panicking I had resolved myself to simply tell my parents that the glasses were lost and they’d just have to buy me a new pair and move on with what ever punishment.

How bad could it be? A grounding for a week? Two? Not bad, survivable certainly.

.

But my folks had other ideas.

.

So enraged were they about the lost glasses, that they refused to buy me a new pair, as they should have.

I was told I would not be getting a new pair, which would put my future in jeopardy because I would not be able to drive without them, heaven’s to betsy!

.

I couldn’t not learn to drive in the next year!

{Appropriate Teenage Freakout ensues}

.

So, I headed back to Joanna’s and searched.

                                           And searched.

                                                                 And searched.

                                                                               Until it was night again.

.

Defeated, I crawled back home, face puffy and red from crying all day.

.

My folks, still angry, took a small bit of pity on me, and the next day my father took me to Home Depot.

.

.

.

And sent me back over to Joanna’s to resume the search.

It took about another hour, but lo-and-behold, I found the with the damn metal doohickey. Not even a scratch on the lenses or anything. I had never been so relieved.

 Guess what I gave my Dad for Christmas?

.

Patrick: a metal detector?

me: Was there any question?