So, the other day it came time to feed the chickens.  Since the kids were in the house, and you know how kids can find trouble in a split second, I ran out to the chicken coop as fast as possible.  Unfortunately, some of the chickens ran out as I opened the coop door.  Since I didn’t want them to run off and hide their eggs only-God-know-where I tried to round the rogue chickens all up to get them back in the coop. 

The chickens didn’t care that I was in my fuzzy white robe, or that I was still in my pajamas or that there was a thunderstorm looming.  They just continued to run circles around the coop despite my best attempts to catch them.  They didn’t care that the neighbors probably thought I was some pajama-clad whack job chasing down chickens at 9 in the morning. 

Finally, I cornered one.  It was just me vs. chicken.  We stared each other down for a few minutes as we both planned out our attack strategy.  I leapt forward, scrambling in the most futile manner, trying to snag any part of a chicken with my hands.  Chicken came straight at my face, wings a-blazing.  My glasses went flying over my head.  Let me just tell you that you never realize how blind you really are until your glasses get slapped off of your face in a split second.  I froze, not wanting to smash my $300 pair of glasses (no matter if I got free frames, inevitably, my glasses would still cost $300 for whatever reason).  Everything looked like a big brown blob as I gently patted the ground looking for my glasses.  Bear in mind, the kids are alone in the house and a storm is approaching, and now it is starting to sprinkle and thunder.  I curse the chicken with the best words I know how.  It is probably the first time I have ever cursed at my poultry.  I made a 3 foot radius with my hands….no glasses.  I am suddenly struck with the thought of Velma on ScoobyDoo, screaming her famous line, “My glasses!  Where are my glasses?!?” and I come to completely sympathize with poor Velma and that it most certainly is NOT funny, not even in the least bit.  I feel terrible for ever making fun of Velma losing her glasses.  It also occurs to me that it’s a darn good thing that the Mystery Gang didn’t pack heat, because if they had, Velma would have rained down a hailstorm of bullets on the monster as soon as she DID locate her glasses.  Yes, it is THAT frustrating. Now I am nearly on the verge of tears, angry with my stupid genes for giving me this stupid, crappy vision and mad at the stupid hen for losing my stupid glasses.  Then I remember I have an ancient pair in my car. 

Shuffling so as not to crush my lost spectacles,  I run to the car as I am now getting soaking wet in the rain and throw on my old pair.  For those of you who have glasses, you will sympathize with me when I say it was like walking in the old Casa Magnetico house at Six Flags, or trying to walk after drinking a fifth of whiskey (I wouldn’t know personally, just a guess).  I ran, sideways, back to the coop where shortly thereafter I found my dumb glasses, about 4 foot BEHIND where I had been standing in the initial assault. 

Chicken: 1, Amanda: zero