Today, as I stepped out of the shower, I had a brilliant idea.
I would try to approximate the delightful combination of exotic oils and sun protection smell that wafts off me in ocean like waves during the summer.
When polled, my family agreed that I give off an endorphin enhancing scent during June, July and August when the blend of coconut, avocado and mango oils team up with the triglycerides and disodium EDTA of my sunscreen lotion to form the perfect warm weather smell.
I slathered myself in the essential base coat of natural creams followed by the SPF 30 topper.
I reeked of greasy beach fun.
It was almost as if there was sand between my toes and seagulls lusting for my bag of Doritos: and then it happened.
It was a simple mistake made by millions of people every year.
I rubbed my eye.
White hot death and the eternal damnation of an endlessly watering ocular hell.
Sunscreen in my eye. There would be no escape.
Sometimes I do stuff like this and it becomes painfully obvious how we could very easily go extinct.
How this story of stupidity would be of any interest to you or how it could benefit society is truly beyond me : aside from the comedic value of me looking like a fancy but sad pirate with conjunctivitis. My one perpetually closed Popeye and the angry squint I’m forced to wear to mask the pain is like my scarlet letter, my symbolic eye patch.
It’s because of this type of depth perception ruining incident that befalls me nearly every day that I decided that I should probably only write about situations where me, or someone I know, come close to attaining some sort of superhuman feat of strength or perform some act of enormous significance that benefits the human race.
Like saving a stranded kitten or creating a super new line of sunblock that enhances vision instead of taking it away and leaving half the populace blind. The half that can’t take the time to read the warnings that say “for external use only” and “keep out of eyes”.