In an Eye Blink

When it's morning yet still dark outside, people should be sleeping. Exactly where I should have been Monday morning, except I had an extremely early appointment.

I tiptoed across the room, feeling my way through the unlit room, then slid my hand down the wall until my palm bumped over the light switch—wallah! light—and I tugged the door shut so my sleeping husband didn't wake.

After getting ready (Not looking my best, I might add. Because, seriously, who can look decent before the sun is even up?), I shut off the bathroom switch and, purse in hand, wandered through the blackened room to the door. I found it. The door, that is. Only because I ran straight into it. Er, should I say, my left eye ran smack into it.

All I could think was, "Ow! It hurts," and "OMgoodness, I better not have a black eye on Easter."

My eye is only a little discolored and a little puffy. Every time, though, my eye moves, I complain about it hurting. And believe me, I've whined so much, I've even annoyed myself. I have no idea how Floyd Mayweather Jr. does it. I mean, he willingly gets into the ring, knowing his eyes and face and nose are going to get hammered. Ugh, thank you very much, but no. Taking a beating from the door will be enough for me.