Most of the time I tune out what people are saying to me, like “Clean your room” or “Stop being a piece of trash” or “You should take out your contacts every night because there is a real chance that you can go blind. A.K.A, you’ll never see again. Don’t be dumb Bri, take out your contacts. Just do it.” I know I should listen to these things, especially the last one, but taking out your contacts every night just seems so tedious. So I didn’t. I didn’t take out my contacts for four months straight. I even forgot that I had the eyesight of a small, blind dog. I would just wake up and thank Jesus for giving me 20/20 vision.
Four months. Four months. That’s almost half a pregnancy, or the amount of time it would take you to write a crap humor article a day for four months. So due to my appalling lack of common sense, when my eyes started to become red and watery, I thought it must be because of allergies. It was in the middle of December. And I don’t have allergies. So my next brilliant thought was to go to the school nurse. Let me tell you, this woman knew exactly what she was doing. When she saw me with blood red eyes oozing gunk, she gave me the best medical treatment possible.
I went home with an icepack that day for my eyes, courtesy of the nurse’s excellent medical expertise, and continued to wear my four month old contacts. Oh, by the way, these contacts that I was wearing were weekly contacts, if you wanted further insight to just how stupid I am. When my eyes started becoming sensitive to light, I figured “Hey, maybe wearing your contacts for four months straight isn’t the best idea. Why don’t you just take them out right now and put new ones in.” So I went to bed that night in new contacts.
I learned something very valuable the next day. Apparently your eyes need oxygen to function correctly? And contacts prevent oxygen from going into your eyes? And my eyes hadn’t had the sweet taste of oxygen in over four months?
3:00 am.: I wake up screaming because the light from the moon made my eyes feel like they were being cha-cha’d on by a really experienced cha-cha dancer with really sharp heels.
3:15 a.m.: I walk into the emergency room with a towel over my head and my mom guiding me.
3:16 a.m.: I walk into a wall. My mom is terrible at guiding me.
3:30 a.m.: The nurses are laughing at me because I have a towel on my head.
4:00 a.m.: I was diagnosed with “iritis” (sounds like eyerightis).
Basically the iris of my eye had become inflamed. So after taking many eyedrops (one that made my eyes yellow for two days) and wearing trendy sunglasses for about a week, I was healed. The great part is that I still wear my contacts for weeks on end because I’m still a lazy bum.
But honestly, one of the highlights of my existence has come from this experience. I was recently visiting my doctor and he asked about any visits to the ER, so I jokingly tell him about my iritis. This was the conversation:
Me: Yeah, I had this eye thing that was really bad. I wore my contacts for like four months and my iris became inflamed.
Doctor: You had iritis?
Me: (I had a hard time containing myself because what I thought of next was comedy gold) (Also, imagine me saying this in the stereotypical transatlantic accent from the 1920’s) Iritis?!! More like i-wrong-is!! Am I right??!!
Doctor:….
Me: I-wrong-is. It’s like iritis but the opposite. Because my eye wasn’t right. It was wrong. My eye was wrong. Get it?
Doctor: …..
Me:…..
Doctor: YOU COULD HAVE GONE BLIND.
So the moral of my story is: my doctor doesn’t like me anymore, I have the best puns, and I should probably take out my contacts right now.
Bri Boyd is a Humor Writer.
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