But First I Removed the Beam from My Own Eye

My husband has hyper-sensitive eyes protected by lashes so long that they enter the room a full minute before he does. (A cruel joke of nature that such bounty should be wasted on a man, but there you have it.)

You can't so much as wave an index finger two feet from his ocular orb without the P-dog flinching in terror before collapsing to the floor and folding himself into a turtle shell.

As you might imagine, a foreign particle, such as the one that was apparently trapped beneath his eyelid last night, constitutes a five-alarm emergency.

After a few minutes of back and forth over the the various chores involved in shutting down the house for the night ("Hey, P-dog, will you run the dishwasher before you go up thanks!" "I ran it last night." "Yeah, but I unplugged the Christmas tree." "I'll do it if you turn down the thermostat and check the front door"), we headed upstairs to execute our unique bedtime rituals.

My bedtime routine involves tooth brushing, flossing (six teeth a night, give or take a few, every five days on a rotating schedule - huge time saver), face washing, moisturizer, lip balm, noise machine volume adjustment, an occasional Benadryl or Tylenol PM, obsessive sheet straightening, and five minutes of reading the New Yorker before it falls on my face, waking me up.

The P-dog's routine involves tooth brushing, thorough flossing (except when on vacation), face washing, and two minutes of reading The History of the World before it falls on his face, waking him up.

Last night, his routine was shot to hell by the foreign object the P-dog was convinced was lodged beneath his eyelid.

Just as I finished positioning my stack of pillows just so and settled into bed, the P-dog came staggering into the room with one hand covering his left eye, ranting about the splinter that was rendering him senseless with pain.

Although it inconvenienced me to no end, I put my magazine down and agreed to take a look around, see what I could find.

Flipping the P-dog's eyelid back and shining an ultraviolet fold-up clip-on reading lamp into it did not yield favorable results and almost got both of us killed.

(There was a lot of thrashing, lamentation, and gnashing of teeth while the procedure was being performed, and the P-dog, besides being a whole foot taller, also outweighs me by about a hundred pounds.)

I suggested that perhaps his eye was simply a tad dry and would he like some Visine?

Did you ever see that episode of Friends where the gang wrestles Rachel to the ground in order to administer eye drops?

A similar scene took place in our bedroom last night, the P-dog being physically and psychologically incapable of himself executing this task that he considers akin to gouging his own eye out with an ice pick.

It was not easy, but I managed to keep his head relatively steady while squirting a stream of thirst quenching drops in the general direction of his left eyeball.

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh! You're killing me, Rimster! Killing me! Enough! Enough already!" he wailed.

But the source of ocular irritation persisted.

"Why don't you sleep on it, P-dog, and maybe it will work itself out by morning."

"I don't have the luxury of time, Rimster! If this pain does not end soon, I will be a cyclops by morning ! How would you like a one-eyed husband?"

(Squints at me with one eye shut while making pirate noises.)

After a few more minutes of moaning and writhing, the P-dog finally fell asleep.

I didn't get a good look at him this morning before he left for work, but I think I would have noticed an eye patch.

Men are so sensitive.

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I want to thank everyone who commented on yesterday's post about vertigo for your concern and earnest suggestions.

I am going to try making some changes in my diet, as Gadzooks and Alejna suggested, and see what happens. (You just gave me free license to eat potato chips all day long.)

I'm a little wary of going to a chiropractor, as Kathryn suggested, but I would give acupuncture a try.

Amy takes the cake, though. How could I not further investigate author Stasi Eldredge's claim, in her book, Captivating, that her severe dizziness was the result of spiritual attacks??? I heart you, Amy.