Below is one of the best stories ever about an eyeball. Not sure how it’s possible to cringe in horror and laugh until you cry at the same time, but it is.
It was written by my friend, Bridgette, after she read yesterday’s blog post about eyeballs. I think I pulled a muscle from laughing when I read it this morning, and had to share it with you:
So I was reading Jackie’s note of the day and it was all about eyeballs. As I started to write a quippy (is that a word) reply I realized I’ve been lacking in my notes as of late, and so I decided to expand the quip into the full story.
Well Jackie basically traumatized her boys today by teaching them about the gelatinous texture of eyeballs. Her sons have translated this to meaning that eyeballs can have the consistency of yogurt, so be careful on a hot day. Shame on you Jackie. This is why Homeschooling has a bad name.
But I happen to have an eyeball story that will reassure (or further traumatize) her boys. About 7 years ago I owned a stall in a shared sort of flea market store. It was a shambles. The ceiling fell in twice and we named the rats that ran around “Scamper and Thumper.” People rarely stayed long enough to notice the vermin because of the pervasive smell of mold which we liked to cover up by spraying Lysol and Febreeze around the place. One woman lit vanilla candles for a time until she forgot about one and set her dresses on fire. So we wouldn’t stand for it. We had some boundaries.
The store was covered with pegboard walls and we used hooks that slotted into them as display hangers from which to hang our sundries. One day while avoiding Scamper, I wasn’t quite paying attention as I bent down to pick up a hanger to hang up a dress. And I stabbed my eyeball, yes my eyeball, on the metal hook that stuck out. (The kind you see in old shops with bags of cheap 2 for a dollar candies hanging on ‘em) Yes I bounced my eyeball off a metal hook with my eyes wide open. Next to me was a pile of clothing to be hung up. To the far right was a display shelf with lots of “bed in a bag” type comforter sets. In front of me was Nelle (of the vanilla candle fame) talking to a customer. The pain was so instant and precise that I jerked up and fell on top of my pile of clothing. Since that didn’t make the pain go away my body launched into the “run….die….die.. or beat yourself senseless until you go unconscious and can’t feel the pain” mode. And so I began hurtling myself across the back of the store. This entailed me bouncing my upper body off my pile of clothes and then vaulting towards the stacks of bed in the bags. When this didn’t help I bounced into a display rack and knocked over a stand of Halloween decorations.
I repeated this action about five times without making a sound because the pain was of the vocal cord paralyzing variety. Finally when I did make a sound it was in reaction to Nell and her customer slowly turning around and seeing me flailing around like a cat that’s fallen into a washing machine. And of course the natural reaction to seeing the horrified looks on their faces was to burst out laughing into mad shrieks. I simply could not stop laughing long enough to explain to them what had happened. And of course this exacerbated the situation nicely. They thought I was insane. (I am but they didn’t have to know that.)
When at last I had been taken to the hospital, the doctors called all their interns and nurses down to look at my eye. (This is a clue that you are really damaged in case you didn’t know.) Apparently it looked the same way that it does when you drag your thumbnail down the side of a Styrofoam cup. I was informed that I was lucky I hadn’t hit it at a different angle and pierced it. I was also told that injury to the eye was the most painful of injuries to the human body and that unfortunately the medication they used to help me even open my eye in the first place was so addictive that they couldn’t give me any more drops. Instead I got Percocet. I stayed in bed for a week.
The thing is, when I think back on this story all I can remember is the laughter, not the pain. I remember thinking “They must think I am a complete psycho right now.” Also I’m clumsy normally and tend to trip over things and have no coordination. Patricia reminded me of this when I took her to the break room last week and promptly tripped over the foot stands in her wheel chair. I had warned her I was clumsy. She remarked, “You really are aren’t you?”
Anyway long story but this is sort of my badge of warning in life. I never react the right way. I trip and stumble and laugh at the wrong time. Cry at the wrong time. Cheer and flail about. In the end you might not know it, but I’m laughing at myself the whole way thinking about how I must come across to others. And eventually, even those who wish to be kind will say, “Wow you really are a messed up piece of work, aren’t you?” But they say it with a smile and that makes it all OK.
Picture of the day:
The best pecan pie in the world. Imported from the top of Mount Olympus directly to the Blue Parrot Bistro in Gettysburg.
Song stuck in my head all day: She Blinded me with Science.