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“Hey, Honey, I found a nice seashell here!” “That’s nothing, Dear. I just found a humongous eyeball.”

I’m not a huge beach person.  I was born pale and grow more translucent with each passing year.  I burn more easily than tissue paper.

This happens to me when I check the mail.

So it’s not at all surprising that when someone found a giant eyeball on the beach, that person was not me.

It’s all hypodermic needles and doll legs when I head to the coast.

But, boy, do I wish it had been.

Unfortunately I blew my last childhood wish on this fiasco. You’ve never seen so much vomit.

You see, the guy who found the eyeball reported it straight away to the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.

That’s right.  He didn’t try to freak out one single beach-goer.

Seriously. The guy found a giant eyeball and didn’t ask a single person if they could help him put his contact lens back in. Opportunities like this don’t come every day.

There aren’t many opportunities in life in which you know, with absolute certainty, that you were the right person for that situation.  And this was mine.  And some humorless yokel stole my perfect situation.  It is a tragedy as large as the iris in that eyeball.

“You don’t love me? Look me in the eye when you tell me that.”


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