Right in the Eye!

Right in the Eye!

My poor Eye Guy. I feel so sorry for him when I show up and need an exam requiring dilation. It takes all my might not to kick him as he puts those demon drops in my orbs. I also felt sorry for my mother, who I’d asked to help me with some drops while we were on a shopping trip. My eyes were dried and grainy from too much dry air and too much screen time, and she was happy to help. Until she nearly had to chase me around the hotel room and across two beds to get them in.

I can’t handle it. I cannot — I mean cannot — put drops in my own eyes without running from myself.

Contacts are not in my future. If eye surgery of any sort is in the cards, they’ll have to knock me all the way out and chain me to the table.

In the last few weeks, it seems my eyes have been taking more than their fair share of hits. “But don’t you wear glasses?” you ask. Why, yes. Yes, I do. Either they were on top of my head or not on my face, or the mini-blinding projectiles managed to evade the frames and hit their target. Here we go:

I’m not a fan of hairspray. I don’t like the way it smells or how it makes my hair feel. When you’ve been blessed with baby-fine strands and very few follicles, sometimes hairspray is a must, especially in the dry winter months.

You know. Where you walk across the carpet and the electrons vibrate from your socks up to your scalp, raising every hair on your head to the heavens.

Or when those electrons plaster that hair against your cheeks or your forehead and you’re forever trying to wipe it out of the way… I use just a little to keep this annoyance down to a dull aggravation when I must be around people. I don’t use aerosols—I think they smell worse than the pump kind. Hair gel works for about half the day, but by the time drama and trauma and chaos take hold and I’ve run my hands through my hair for the twentieth time, it’s back to fly-away static.

Usually, one bottle will last me a year. My 2019 spray finally ran out a few weeks ago. Likely lasted that long because, well, 2020 sucked away most opportunities for “don’t scare the public” hair.

Enter 2021 supply chain issues, and I was forced to buy an aerosol or travel three counties over to hunt for my not-too-smelly brand elsewhere. I’m not that dedicated to anti-static-ing anything.

Well, I dropped the can on the first go and didn’t know I’d buggered the nozzle.

The next day, I aim carefully, so as not to plaster the wall behind me, trying to hit a particularly fly-away spot, and bam!

Right in the eye.

That’s ONE.

The other day, the hubs put away the dishes for me. We have a few pieces that I usually keep down on the counter for easy reach. He “puzzled” one into the cabinet—a glass loaf dish that I never bake a loaf in (see Blowing Up Biscuits), but it is good for leftovers we may have that were cooked by someone else...

I open the cabinet.

Bam! Loaf pan to the eye.

That’s TWO.

Stella Marie, my beautiful long-haired kitty, loves pens and pencils. Especially the ones on my desk where she’ll “inspect” and “supervise” their use. I sit down to the desk this morning, and she manages to step on one that’s half-off of the corner of the desk. The pen somersaults, airborne, and…

That’s THREE.

Kitty litter box clean-out time. While unwadding a Walmart bag to contain the scoops, I usually do that little “flick” maneuver to get the bag to open all the way.

Evidently, the last time I bought elbow macaroni, several pieces escaped from the box, ending up in the bottom of this particular Walmart sack.

My “flick” sent elbows ticking against the wall and across the floor. All but one. That one piece of pasta mimicked the pen’s somersault trajectory and, bam!

Right in the eye.

That’s FOUR.

It was a different eye. So both eyes traumatized, barely able to see to pick up the pen or the pasta…

I bought grapefruit today for the first time in a long time.

I shall wait until tomorrow.

And wear goggles.

And learn how to duck…

May your hair, husbands, and cats not bring you blindness in the new year. May none of your challenges be so great that you must run from yourselves or your mothers.

And if 2022 starts off with even the slightest twinkle that could echo the drama and trauma of 2020 or 2021, punch it right in the eye!

Love the Blog? Try These!

Compilations of 100 posts, complete with commentary from Little Miss Muse!