Tuesday, May 24, 2016

An Open Letter to the Spawn of Satan: The Pink Eye



To the worst invention of infections one should be done with once they get into adulthood, The Pink Eye,
 
 
Well, you're pretty much the worst, aren't you? 
Welcome back to looking at the backside of my eyelids, you little devil, as I sleep and cry and beg the Lord above to forgive me of whatever transgression I performed that may have caused our frequent crusty get togethers over the past few weeks.  I don't think we've seen each other this much since I had a crush on that kid named Eric in the third grade. 
Or was it Sam?  Or Jared?  Or all of them?
ANYWAY, what you need to know is that I've subscribed to the proper Pink Eye extermination treatments every time you decide to show back up here. 
I've used the drops. 
I've Lysoled every surface of my house. 
I've changed my contact lens case.
I've avoided rubbing my eyes all the times of all the days.
But, no, that's just not enough for you, is it?  You have to come back, now, for the third time in a mere six weeks, and show your ugly face.  Wait, no, you have to show back up to make sure other people look at my face and exclaim,
"AHH!  Look away, children!  She is carrying the scarlet mark!"
My children have started calling me, "Mad Mama," in an effort to make sense of my ever-changing looks.  You have made my eyes appear as temperamental as a mood ring, infectious disease.  If I could spit at you, I would, but that would just be me attempting to spit in my own eye, and I don't really see anything advantageous about that at all. 
So, fine.  You win.  I'll go to the opthamologist.  I'm sure they will say I'm dying of the worst eye disease known to man, and then my tombstone will read something like,
"Her people loved her, but her eyes did not."
And I'll be that classic graveyard joke.  So, thank you, Pink Eye, for ruining my life.  I hope that you find yourself and grow up.  Because right now, I can't deal with you. #pinkeyeforthewin

The End.
 
 


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