Because I’m an adult lady and super fancylike and also dignified? I try to keep it classy. And one of the best ways to keep it classy is to not have pink eye.
Sadly, I have failed this basic tenet of fanciness this summer. I have pink eye, and I’ve had it for a few weeks. But don’t worry – I have been assured that it cannot be spread over the interwebs.
When I got pink eye, I did the smart thing and saw my eye doctor immediately. He was like, “Hmm. It looks like one thing but it might be another, but let’s do the cheap eye drops and see what happens.”
Sadly, he did not prescribe a regimen of pouting and complaining about the pink eye. However, I figured that was an important part of the process and took that on myself. I figured it couldn’t hurt.
But the eye drops did hurt. They hurt a lot. I figured that meant that were working. It was only after the treatment was over that I realized I’m allergic to one of the main ingredients in the eye drops.
I am not the brightest star in the sky. Besides, I was too busy obsessing over the fact that I was going to be pink-eyed and glasses-clad for The Official Family Photo that my mom was coordinating. Because when you’re super fancylike and also dignified, you generally don’t want to be photographed when you have the modern equivalent of leprosy. But I took one for the team, me and my gunky eyes.
I called the eye doctor again and was forced to ‘fess up about the allergy – which, to be fair, he didn’t catch, either. But he was incredulous, like, “So, the drops hurt really badly, and you kept using them?”
Clearly, he is a man. Any woman would be like, “Ah. That sounds like thongs and hair color and any form of hair removal. Of course you keep going.”
So, now I have new eye drops. Eye drops that cost $260 but that I paid a mere $60 for, thanks to a manufacturer’s coupon. Who says drug companies are gouging patients?
Anyway, I updated My Guy on all of this. He eyed me suspiciously, and then looked at the sleeping dachshund in my arms. “You know why this is happening, right?”
I looked at my sweet husband. “Because I’m paying a karmic debt for being so awesome?”
He shook his head solemnly, paused a moment, and then let me have it. “No. No, you have EYE RABIES because you let this little dog with the BIG POOPY MOUTH kiss you!”
I clutched my hand to my chest. If I had been wearing pearls, I’d have been clutching pearls.
“There’s no way those two things are related,” I said.
“What-EV-er,” My Guy replied. “Lil’ Frank eats poop. Then he licks your face. You probably have Zika and emphysema and ringworm, too!”
“You think EVERYTHING is ringworm! I had strep throat and you tried to treat it with Lotrimin Ultra!”
“It would have worked, too, if you’d just given it a chance.”
“You sound like the bad guy from every ‘Scooby Doo’ who says his plan would have worked, too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids.”
“The bad guy says it because it’s true!”
“I have eye rabies from an undetermined source. Lil’ Frank doesn’t kiss me on the days he’s eaten poop. We have an agreement. And he never kisses my eyes.”
At this point, My Guy shook his head and walked away. He tried to act all bad and mad, but he scooped the dog out of my arms so they could cuddle. Because I’m not the only object of dachshund affection.
Besides, how could anyone blame this face?
|“C’mere and lemme kiss ya.”|