Wednesday, August 04, 2004

The Importance of a Right Eye

I'm not sure what's going on today, but my right contact is killing me. It feels like something is stuck behind it, but I've looked and I don't see those evil eyelashes (I'm convinced that eyelashes are the devil. I can't imagine anything more painful than an eyelash sticking to your eyeball. If it wasn't for the fact that I look like I have no eyes when I'm not wearing mascara, I'd just have my eyelashes shaved off.)

And so I've been sitting in my cubicle for the last few minutes with my right eye closed. And I've now discovered how much I use my right eye. My right eye is the one that can see the pictures of Sweetie Pie and the pets and remind me that I do have a life beyond this place. My right eye is the one who can see who I should avoid thanks to my call display.

My right eye is also the prettiest of my two eyes. I know you're not supposed to have a favorite, but I do. My left eye is like the ugly stepsister, almost unnoticeably smaller and with a slight evil look to it. It's definitely the bad seed of the pair. Trust me, I've had these babies for almost 30 years (GAAAA! There's that number again!!!!! ).

And I worry about the whole having favorites thing. I'm very about having favorites of everything. Like Sweetie Pie is definitely my favorite guy ever, since I bothered to marry him and everything. And chocolate is definitely my favorite food. I have a favorite between my cats, which I didn't realize until the favorite one ran away. And as much as I love both of our dogs, I do have to admit the one that loves me more is my favorite.

But then what happens if I have kids? You're not supposed to have a favorite then? But how do you teach yourself to not favor something? It's like teaching yourself not to like chocolate! I mean, that's crazy!

Which makes me think... I really could use some chocolate right now. Here's what I don't understand about chocolate. How can I love something that treats me so badly? I totally understand women who stay with guys don't treat them well because I've been in a bad relationship since I was an infant. I took a liking to chocolate when I was only a few months old (who needs breast milk in the 70s!) to the point that my first word (or sentence actually) was "I want some cocholate." And no, that's not a typo. I was nine months old, give me a break!

Anyway, I've loved chocolate ever since I was old enough to understand the concept of its sweet loving flavor and the residual high of happiness it leaves you with for the next few minutes.

But the question is, has chocolate been good to me? During my teen years, I'm sure that my zit problem was aggravated by my (at least) daily candy bar. And now, today, I'm sure that the extra twenty pounds I carry around are very much to be blamed on chocolate.

How can something I love so much treat me this way? And yet, the idea of another food overtaking chocolate's position in my life makes me want to choose death over a life without chocolate.

I think I get my chocolate gene from my grandfather. He's 83 years old and has eaten (a lot of) chocolate his entire life. Two years ago, he was diagnosed with diabetes and was told he could no longer eat chocolate. You might has well have given him a death sentence he was so upset. And people around him would say "but you got to eat chocolate for 81 years!" And he tells them "who cares when I can't eat it for the rest of my life."

And so if I end up being 50 or 100 pounds overweight by the end of my life, at least I will still have chocolate.

Love,

Catwoman.

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