Glaucoma, psoriasis and sticky contact lenses, that is. At least we’ve spread out the calamities.
Allow me to explain:
The Lord & Master has endured a series of grueling eye pressure tests, from the whimsical puff of air into the eye all the way to having his teeny eyelids forcibly yanked open and held apart while a light he described as “slightly brighter than the sun” was shined directly onto his quivering eyeball. And whaddya know, he’s on his way to glaucoma. For now, I’m assigned eyedrop duty, though what he intends to do while I’m away at the Bar Mitzvah of one Benjamin Shufro, I haven’t a clue. Worse, the drops are to be applied approximately 12 hours apart, wreaking havoc with my late mornings. For crying out loud, even our dog sleeps until at least 10 a.m. (Strange, but true.)
My lifelong admiration and association with elephants has taken a new turn. Clearly, you can tell I’m part pachyderm if you’ve caught my backside in full lumber-along mode or taken a gander at my stumpy, ankle-free legs. These quirks I have learned to bear with the dignity of, well, a kindly Horton-loving elephantess. But now the heartbreak of psoriasis, utterly manageable on my chestal area, has leapt to my already baggy undereye zone. The skin is crackly, red, and dry. How lovely. Even more charming is the specially hand ground white cream the dermatologist had made up for lil ol’ me. So I’m in whiteface.
Sassafrass has her own optical cross to bear as she adjusts to wearing contact lenses. (All the better to read sides at auditions.) The little buggers love her eyes so much she has to pinch hard – and repeatedly – to pluck them off. Now she can ply her craft sans-glasses; yet red eyed. Is this progress?