Story Time: Glung Your Eye Shut And Getting Someone to Marry You out of Pity

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On Facebook, someone asked me to do a weekly story from my life. Not a boring story or stupid one, but one of the fantastic tales of misshappery that seem to always happen to certain individuals in life, myself included. I thought you guys might enjoy these too, so I’m repeating them here. Here is the first one:

When hubby and I started dating, I was 19. I was like most girls, trying to do up all my shit that could be done up so that I was a little hottie, and as part of this ‘doing up’ I had acrylic nails (this was 1994). I also wore contact lenses on a daily basis. Because acrylic nails were known to pop off if you even so much as grabbed toilet paper wrong, I carried acrylic nail glue in my purse. I also had contact lense rewetting drops with me. These two completely different bottles were very, very similar in shape and size.

The night of our date, I was getting ready to drive home (I had driven to his house and we stayed in, ate pizza and watched movies) and wanted to rewet my contacts first. Dumbass that I am, I didn’t even look at the bottle I picked out of my purse, I just assumed I had grabbed the rewetting drops, tipped my head back, and put a drop in my eye. I blinked but instead of re-opening post-blink, my eye remained closed. Stubbornly.  I immediately realized what I’d done and started laughing my ass off because, what else was I gonna do? I tilted my head down to soon-to-be hubby and told him what happened, and he freaked out while looking at his one-eyed date and called poison control then drove me to the ER.

Word of a stupid human trick travels fast so once I was in the ER, about 80 million people—nurses, doctors, janitors, homeless drifters—all stopped in to my bed to look at the dumbass who’d glued her eye shut. None of them even tried to help, they just stared and asked me to repeat the story over and over, then finally someone released me and told me they couldn’t do anything. They gave me the name of an eye doctor to contact on Monday (this was Friday) and hubby drove me home. He drove my brake-free (yeah, I’m not really joking here—and this is another story) Pontiac Fiero to my house and then back to his. He hadn’t realized what a state of disrepair my car was in, or he wouldn’t have driven it. Anyway, on his way back to his apartment, he ran over a cat.

The next day I called the Dr’s service and set an appointment for 1st thing Monday. Then, soon-to-be hubby came over to my house and picked me up for another wonderful day together. We hung out but couldn’t even really get in a good makeout session because…I was a patchless pirate. My eyelashes were all stuck together and I looked like an idiot. But we had some laughs and then he took me home. During this time the contact lense in my eye was dry from the glue and it kept breaking up into shards which would poke by eyeball during REM or if I was stupid enough to move the eye around in my head while awake. Then, because my eyelashes were all stiff and glued together, they started hurting and stabbing me in the face if I laid down wrong, so I had to cut them off.

Monday finally arrives and my dad, who was supposed to drive his depth-perception-free one-eyed daughter to the eye doctor, forgot to stay home from work and I was on my own. I tried to drive myself but couldn’t judge distances or general street navigation and I ended up accidentally driving off the road. I got out of the car and walked to a neighbor’s house and begged her to take me to the eye doctor. Once there, the eye doctor stabbed my eyeball several times to numb it and then cut it open and removed all the debris. I had no eyelashes and a huge black eye and was starting a new job THAT day.

Ironically, my Dad had glued his eye shut ten years earlier with PVC glue (he’s a plumber). The moral of the story is this: My hubby married me because I am incapable of taking care of myself.

Next week’s story will be a tale about how I tried to lift (with my arms) a 350 pound, smelly, mute guy on my way to work one morning.

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5 responses »

  1. Pingback: No Me Molesta or: How I tried to Save and Old Man’s Life and Traumatized Him in the Process « Evelyn Lafont, Author

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