Glasses

"Where are my glasses?” They usually live in a little handwoven basket by the phone.

George didn’t budge from the couch. “Did you look everywhere?”

“Of course! Do you think I’m dumb? I have a fleet of them. And I’m always losing them. How’s that possible?” So again I search that handwoven basket, and my purse, my winter coat, my spring coat, my pant pockets, even the junk drawer. Then the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen again, and back to the living room.

“Which ones are you missing?” George still hasn’t budged from his perch on the couch.

“The purple ones with the green stripes. My favorites. Blast it all. Now I have to go back to the Dollar Store and buy more and they’re probably sold out of my strength and won’t get any more of that type. I hate when I lose things. I always try to put things back where they belong, just like you suggest.” All this looking and searching is exhausting. I sank to the couch.

George nudged me. I smiled, put my head on his shoulder.

He pointed to my head.

“Really? And you didn’t say a word?”

“You wouldn’t let me.”

George lifted my purple glasses with the green stripes from my head and placed them in my lap. “There you go, I just saved you a few bucks and a lot of trouble. You’re welcome.”



W/C 233