Hello pink eye, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Within the sound of pink eye
— with apologies to Paul Simon
This will be a short post, made necessary by the fact that my wife is an elementary school teacher.
I awoke this morning with that too-familiar feeling of having my eyes crusted shut by the unsavory secretions of the pink-eye germ. After prying open my eyelids with a handy crowbar I keep in the bathroom for just such occasions, I peered into the mirror and directly into the eyes of fiend from the Seventh Level of Hell.
After informing my wife of my fate, she told me, “Oh, I thought maybe I had that the other day, so I’ve been using the drops.”
Thanks for the warning, dear!
Fortunately, we do indeed still have a small quantity of the medication we both used the last time this occurred, which is not uncommon in homes where at least one family member works among the small unwashed.
Filthy little snot-mongers!