(no subject)
Simon Skinner is inept in the art of combining ingredients. Ana has therefore entrusted him with the most important task of stirring batter, though it is clear, as she peers at him, askance, at short intervals, that she does not entirely trust him with this. Every time she looks, he smiles, smugly, as if to say he has it under control. In a wave of arrogance, he winks, once, when she looks again, but does not re-open his closed eye when she looks away. His smile evaporates. He turns his face towards the batter, bowing closer to the bowl. He's stopped stirring. His eye is still closed. He prods the batter with his spoon, begins to stir again, still searc--
"Looking for something?"
He quickly stands up straight. His other, open eye slams down. Squeezed precariously between the lids of this eye is a single contact lens thwarted in its bid for escape. The other contact lens is...
He raises his pinkie to the captured contact lens, opens his eye, and carefully places the lens back where it belongs. His other, contact lens-free eye is still squeezed shut. Not looking Ana in the eye, he admits, guiltily, "I fucked up the batter."