...And they were nowhere to be found.
I checked all the usual spots. No glasses. I checked them again. No glasses. I started checking unusual spots, like the washing machine and the refridgerator. Still no glasses.
This was getting worse by the minute, because I am bat-blind without my glasses, I don't have a spare pair, and something happened to one of my contacts last fall and every time I try to wear it I wind up looking bloodshot and creepy. (Obviously, I have not done anything about the contacts because I am fucking lazy.)
In humiliation, I called Will to let him know what was going on and luckily for me, he was very sympathetic, also being a wearer of glasses and all. In fact, we now have a great idea for a children's book about glasses that run away to have an adventure and meet lost keys and remote controls.
Finally, in abject frustration and about three minutes from trashing my entire apartment (like you'd be able to tell, it's a mess), I dumped the mattress on one side. Still no glasses. But after replacing the mattress, I looked down and saw, on top of my fuzzy slippers where they were definitely not thirty seconds before, my glasses.
I'm still not sure precisely where they were or how they got there, but they don't seem to be bent or otherwise damaged. And today, that rates as a reason to be positively gleeful.