This is based on a very small thing, but I find it funny nevertheless. I don't blame you if you read this and wonder what the point of my writing it was - but like I have pointed out before, I do have an odd sense of humor and some things one might find odd, I end up talking about. Like how the door opened.
I cannot stand things touching my eyes. I can't touch them with my fingers, I can't open them underwater. Only my eyelids and socket can touch them, but of course I can't feel my own eyeball within and my eye can't feel the enclosed space of flesh it sits in.
Therefore, I cannot stand eye drops. Getting them is extremely uncomfortable for me and it's extremely hard.
This begins on the first morning of my trip to a family cottage. It was just after breakfast, and my eyes had gotten itchy. My grandfather noticed this and suggested I had eye-allergies, and recommended eye drops.
I have to say that I personally doubt I have any allergies, but of course I can be wrong. I just don't like to think so. And it's only been a few weeks that my eyes have been this way. They get itchy sometimes, or for some reason I feel like rubbing them, making them itchy and like something is stuck in them.
Before I knew it, my grandpa was heading inside the cottage from the screened in porch area to get his eye drops. I ran.
I ended up spending about three minutes under the wraparound deck. Rising again out from underneath, I walked onto the deck near the cottage.
Not a minute later, the front door opened. This is the interesting part: It did not just open. It opened with a force and sound of purpose, expectation, suddenness, and like the one opening it had a strong will to get outside for a big, well-known reason.
I just knew it was my grandpa, come outside to administer his eye drops to me. I quickly walked beyond the corner of the building, but he obviously knew I was there, or nearby.
"Justin. Just the person I was looking for."
How could he have found me? Alright, that's a ludicrous question, to the point of it being pretty unnecessary to point out. The cottage has tall, wide windows along the side of the living room wall looking out onto the deck, one window after the other, spanning the whole west wall of the living room. The 78-year old man could have had no trouble glancing through any one of them while walking through the living room, or even being in the kitchen looking into the adjacent living room towards the windows. He could even be ensconced in the dining room where he could just look up beyond the banister of the stairs to spot me conspicuously standing around on the deck outside the living room beyond. If he were on the second floor, same thing. Up in the third-floor loft - same thing. Just look down into the living room and through the windows. So conspicuous.
But man, the door opening - it was almost like a sort of action film where one is pursued by an evil force, and just as they are retreating down the hallway of the huge edifice the good guys are trapped in, it thrusts open a door nearby with force, purpose, menace, and an evil deed on its mind just as they are about to round a corner out of sight.
Good ol' grandpa and his eye drops.
Not long after, I had managed to get away without having them. I was squirming in the lounge chair on the deck as he tried to keep my eye pried open, before backing off when I told him the sky was too bright to look at wide-eyed. It was eight in the morning. And yes, it was too bright. I won't lie. It wasn't an excuse.
It really wasn't. I was perched backwards on a lounge chair looking up. He missed my eye the first time. He had mercy.
Thank god for that.