Fresh on the heels of my Body Shaming by Kate, her two best “friends” found a way to “shame” my face.
We were in the Third-world club watching a UA basketball game. Most sports bars have big screens with good sight lines from each seat. Not at the Third-world.
They have 2 big TV’s facing away from the bar, and a set of smaller 80’s-sized boob tubes behind it. The room is filled with support beams, room dividers and hanging light fixtures just to ensure every patron has a perfectly obstructed view. Awesome design.
Sitting with their backs to the bar and looking at the big screen behind me were Andy, Kate’s husband, and her best friend — let’s just call her “What’s Her Name” to protect the innocent. That’s right, I’m naming and shaming Kate and Andy because there is nothing innocent about those two mother fuckers.
I’m sitting two tables away facing the bar and looking over the heads of Andy and What’s Her Name at the game on a teeny, tiny TV. She starts waving at me like I’m on a Carnival Cruise headed for Bermuda.
I adjust my gaze downward to see what the hell is happening.
They are pointing at my face and giggling like the school girls who witnessed my first depantzing in the junior high cafeteria.
Then they point at other places in random space and look over their shoulders trying to track where I am “looking.”
“No, it’s cute the way your eyes go in different directions,” ole What’s Her Name yelled across the bar.
“I’ll bet you can see the whole bar without turning your head,” Andy may have said. (I couldn’t really hear him, and I just made up that quote because it’s the kind of shit I would say).
We all laughed and laughed.
You see my left eye is so lazy it has been collecting unemployment since 1978. I tried to force it to get a job, but like any Kardasian it refuses to do real work.
About once every decade, I try wearing an eye patch on my right eye for about 3 months. But that left asshole (I mean eye) won’t budge and still only does about 50 percent of what it is supposed to do.
Apparently during the game, it decided to take the night off and was just randomly drifting about the room, while I was watching the Wildcats blow a 7-point lead to god damn Gonzaga.
I try not to look at or think about my own face as much as possible. I was pretty shocked when What’s Her Name started the wave of shame. It took me a few minutes to remember — ohh yeah my left eye is still really fucking lazy and other people can see it.
Does that mean I’m going to do something about my shame. Fuck NO.
At my age, I’m lucky any of my joints or organs or bodily functions will even work half the time. On that scale, my left eye is making its quota, and who really gives a shit what it looks like.
And goddamn it, us old folks (note the micro-aggression) will not be cowed by the douchebags’ cowardice. We will laugh at your shame, and we expect you to laugh at ours. So join us all on the short bus and learn to go along for the ride.