The pros and cons of wearing prescription contacts

While cooking dinner last week, I noticed I wasn't tearing up while cutting onions. Granted, 'tearing up' is a bit of an exaggeration, but, to clarify, I was completely unaffected. Then it dawned on me: I was wearing contact lenses.

Then, because I've worn them for seven years, and because cooking was relatively unexciting, I thought of a pros and cons list for wearing said lenses!

Pro:

Since you're wearing something non-human in your eyes, you become slightly less human yourself, and slightly more cyborg... and therefore more awesome.

Con:

You're 5 times more likely to get an eye infection - 15 times if you sleep in your contacts.

Pro:

You acquire a moderate resistance to tears while cutting onions. (Cut onions with confidence!)

Con:

They cost you about $250NZD/year, $350 counting the stuff you put them in when not in use, $420 counting the recommended annual check-up.

Pro:

You get to enjoy 20/20 vision without the blurry border, a la glasses.

Con:

Applying and removing them (each) requires an extra minute out of your day.

Pro:

Instantly obliterates the common fear of touching one's own eyes. (Touch slimy surfaces with confidence!)

Con:

Deciding which side is up can occasionally be a pain (literally).

There are two methods to tell whether or not you have them in the right way.

1) Sight

If they're inside-out they look less like a bowl and more like a pitcher plant.

2) Touch

The pitcher plant is carnivorous, much like the Venus fly trap, or the inside-out contact lens. If method (1) doesn't work for you (and there are days where the visual difference is so minimal you end up guessing), then the subsequent sensation that your eye is being eaten and/or stabbed by daggers will no doubt eliminate the ambiguity.

Of course, if you don't experience this feeling, then you can rejoice, because it means you guessed right! 

All in all, you can't go wrong.

Pro:
If one falls out (or you only wear one for whatever reason), you can see clearly and blurry all at once! But that's not all. If you shut one eye, everything's perfect; if you shut the other eye instead, everything's fuzzy! Not bad if you're bored on the bus ride home.

Con:
If one falls out, that's a loss of $18.

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Why you shouldn't bake "Ferri bread" (a goodbye letter)

A good friend of mine recently moved to Melbourne. Her departure was rather sad, so I wrote her an even sadder goodbye letter,

a) because writing is fun,

b) to appease the boredom she would otherwise experience in-flight, and 

c) writing a list of in-jokes is lame; they're much better when they revolve around a tragic story depicting death and Titanic-inspired shipwrecks.

Not to fear: by in-joke, I mean one recurring motif ("Ferri bread", a play on words), which emphasises the need for change, and that one mustn't hold onto the past, lest he/she remains stuck there forever... and dies. Yes indeed.

NB: the girl in question can be likened to a jaffa: coloured on the inside and orange on the outside.

Dearest Nicky,

The thought of us apart is unbearable. I fear my days aflood with tears and my nights bereft of sleep. No doubt I will be taking jaffas - two at a time, five times a day, with food - to maintain my sanity.

When I do… I will be thinking of you.

Perhaps you will be as Matt-sick as I will be Nicky-sick. If so, I can only imagine of what your supplements will comprise. Probably a loaf of bread inscribed 'Ferri', and doused in the rivulets of your sorrow. The picture grieves me so. I mean, you are a nightmare in the kitchen (remember the pot incident?), and your baking is questionable at the best of times. Still, the promise of high fibre will reassure me of your good health, and thereby reinforce my hope that you shall one day return.

Or it may be me who runs into you.

Years from now, we'll be cruising the open sea, I a simple passenger and you a world-class dancer. Should peril befall us, I will not fear; for even if the storm that seeks to tear us apart does no less to the ship on which we stand, the years of appalling, albeit sentimental bread will be our lifeline. The rafts will be full, the rescue choppers astray in the fog. But the bread you made, while dense and unbreakable what with your amateur cooking (I do not even know how you call it bread), will be no less our means of survival… or, rather, yours.

You see, this loaf of waterproof wholemeal will be too small for us both, as you will have not moments ago consumed a good few blocks of chocolate instead of evacuating like everyone else. Yet its buoyancy will be just enough to support you (just enough). 

Your eyes will be shaking, weeping, unsteady like the waves that distance us. As you drift farther away, and my strength to tread water wanes, I will ask but one question. "Where did you get that bread?"

You will force a smile, veiled beneath the rain and the night. "I baked it, silly."

"Oh, no wonder it's so… sturdy." I will observe the thing, an obsidian-crusted brick with 'Ferri' etched into one side, white against the black. "At least the insides weren't burned to a crisp."

"Hey!" You will shout, all high-pitched and full of life. How ironic. Then it will occur to you that I am about to die, and the tears will come gushing out like waterfalls. Your sorrow will no longer be streams but rivers, swiftly flooding the recesses of my name. They will soak the insides, corrupting the buoyancy of your honest bread and rendering it useless.

As you sink, I will drop my jaffas and dive after you. I will attempt to lift you back to the surface, but you will shake your head, gripping firmly to the thing you call baking, now all but a weight to pull us down. 

I will look into your eyes, and in but a moment know exactly what you intend to do. You mean to remain in the ocean, and you would want me to join you. Seconds from drowning, I will ponder the idea, only then realising that I have little choice else. My crooked smile will be affirmation enough, and you will drop the brick, taking my hand in its stead. 

Amidst the moans and groans of a ship sinking asunder, blackened white and whitened black will at once unite. A clash of colours will be as one, caught in the void between light and darkness. There in the depths of the sea they will remain… forever.

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