Haystacupuncture

Haystack.
Acupuncture.
Haystacupuncture.

Something about a needle. I'll get to that later.

We start with a story about the beach, which I now call the bea-otch.
(Take that, beach.)

Sandy.
Destruction.
Sandestruction.

That is where I got a sunburn, but don't worry, it was not for nothing.

I got it in exchange for donating my glasses to the ocean.

Oops.
Sea.
Oopsea.

Like I made a sacrifice to Poseidon so he would put a word in with Apollo to burn me.

Stupidest exchange ever.

Trade.
Adept.
Tradept.

I don't even know why a god would need glasses.

Ophthalmology.
Jesus.
Ophthalmologesus.

Though he is the god of the sea, not god of seeing.

Inept.
Neptune.
Ineptune.

So I spent my day at the beach searching for buried treasure. Or floating treasure. Or wherever-my-glasses-ended-up treasure.

Prize.
Eyes.
Priyes.

And what I found is this...

The expression "looking for a needle in a haystack" should be changed to "looking for my glasses in the ocean."

Because that's way harder.

A haystack doesn't move. It doesn't cover three-quarters of the earth. You can't burn down the ocean and just find what you're looking for sitting right there. AND you're doing all this searching without your glasses.

Blinded.
Dedication.
Blindedication.

Sometimes someone will throw a bottle into the ocean, with a note inside that travels across the world, and someone else finds it and they fall in love and live happily ever after.

That actually happens more often than me finding my glasses in the ocean.

And the bottle is made out of glass as well, which is sort of rubbing it in.

Pepsi.
Sea-Faring.
Pepsea-Faring.

So, if anyone finds my glasses on the other side of the world, we should probably get married.

Let me know.

Longshot.
Hotline.
Longshotline.