Apr 1, 2016 3 min read

I’d rather not admit this. Let’s just say that stuff that happens to old people is now happening to me. I’m convinced it’s highly coincidental. The other day, I lost my glasses. Not just temporarily, but lost lost.

No. They weren’t on my head. Everyone asked me that. I have lost my glasses and found them on my head, but not this time.

Yes. I’ve looked behind the dresser, under the bed, between the seat cushions on the sofa.

They no longer exist. Poof! Disappeared in midair!

It’s like Captain Kirk had Scotty beam them out of the house to save future generations of four-eyes.

I may have fallen asleep wearing them Friday night. I might have taken them off. It’s unclear.

I had them when Batman and Superman were knocking the snot out of one another.

Side note: Aren’t they friends? Aren’t they, in fact, SUPERFRIENDS?

I remember pushing the aforementioned glasses up on my nose while discussing with my brother and nephew why I hate dream sequences in movies and television shows, and why I don’t need to see Bruce Wayne’s parents die again.

I’ve seen Batman’s parents shot in an alleyway in comics, television and in multiple movies. I get it. The orphan billionaire grows up to avenge his parents and has a thing for creepy web-winged flying mammals. Yes, he could have been Flying Squirrel Man or Gliding Possum Man, but he went with bats.

But I digress, like I do. After the movie, I went out to a bar where I had ONE BEER. I still had my glasses. I was now railing against the movie to friends and strangers, saying, “It was too long,” and “I wanted more Wonder Woman.” But I had my specs on the whole time.

I had them on at home, when I stayed up late to watch “Rules of Engagement” – proving that “Batman vs. Superman” wasn’t the worst entertainment choice I could make in 24 hours. I needed my glasses to see David Spade, but I’m not sure why I wanted to look on his thin, pale image.

Here’s where it gets fuzzy. I woke up Saturday morning and the glasses weren’t in the usual places. I keep them on the dresser or nightstand. Sometimes I leave them in the kitchen. Not there, there or there.

I took the sheets off my bed in case I fell asleep with them on. I moved the bed and looked under it.

I moved the dresser and looked behind it.

I only found tennis ball-sized lint under the bed. I even found a tennis ball-sized tennis ball, but it was covered in lint. I never found the glasses. I took apart the sofa.

I even looked in the refrigerator behind the carrot juice. No one looks behind the carrot juice, because I’m the only person I know who drinks carrot juice.

My spectacles have evaporated. Disappeared. Vanished.

I am admitting defeat and driving to the optometrist to order another pair. I will. Once I find my car keys.