An Eye for An Eye

Fine.

I suck.

If this were a party, and you were all my guests, what I've done is the equivalent of locking myself upstairs to make babies with the pizza boy for about five hours, while all of you sit, forlorn and hungry, in my living room, awkwardly introducing yourselves with halting overtures of, "So how do you know Kathryn?" and wondering if it would be rude to start in on the spinach dip.

I've blogged...what? Five times this month. Unpardonable.

Well, never fear. There is justice in the world. Because today, back at work at my normal, boring job, I'm covering for a woman who was diagnosed yesterday with pink eye. Which, as we all know, is like the most disgusting, contagious disease ever. A disease, which no one who is not themselves in preschool, or who does not themselves have a preschooler (or, as is the case of my co-worker, two preschool-age twins) should need to worry about.

BUT, here I sit, having already sprayed the office down with enough Windex to kill one of those small, annoying dogs. Huddled in a corner, a now half-empty bottle of Purell hand sanitizer in my grip, I am currently wondering what would happen if I just went balls-out and spread Purell on my actual eye-lids.

Which, the more I think about it, totally seems like the way to go.