No, this is the good one!

Thats the joke I like to play on those that seem a bit uncomfortable asking me about my eye. Its actually a replaced cornea that was badly scarred. I wish I had a good story about how it happened like I was injured trying to find Ossama Bin Laden or it was injured during a fight with ghost pirates. Alas nothing as glamorous. The iris is stretched and it looks like a cat eye. I usually hear “That’s cool” and I reply with my old standard “How cool? Cool enough for you to want to give me cash/ make out/ wash my car”? No takers yet, but I am patient. I digress.

The shape of the eye sometime give an ominous look leading people to think that I am scowling at them. I found out this was known as the stink/skunk/evil eye. My usual jocularity and silly antics put people at ease and I no longer am placed in the mean guy category. With that said I will now retell a story, a story of pain. A story of disgust and trauma only seen by trauma surgeons and homicide detectives.

It was a glorious spring day. A day that could put the most devout curmudgeon and ne’er-do-well in the best of spirits. A day when I took no offense at doing one of my least favorite chores. Mowing the lawn. I hate all the prep work and extras that one does just to cut grass. Shovel poop, empty the catcher, fill the garbage bags and so on. I call shenanigans on all that! I’m a free spirit! I will just forgo the catcher and that other drudgery that keeps me from the sweet sweet smell of fresh cut grass.

I mow.

I mow sans catcher(the little rocks that gently pelt my shins are not bad). The grass will fly out the catcher attachment, dry up and blow away. No problem. I mow over the dog doody. It will scatter all over and not be a problem.

Halfway though I see a pile, take aim and run over it. I never thought a piece of poo could exit the catcher hole, catch the wind and hit me. The odds of that are huge. Even greater are the odds of that same poo making a turn, catching an updraft and flying at my eye. The stink eye non the less. It was like a scene from the matrix only with dog poo. It was horrible and I still carry the scars. What I can’t figure out is why I felt running around like a mad man and yelling poo would help me.

So now when I am asked about my stink eye I do have a good story.