Hanging around waiting for a meeting to start today, the conversation turned to glasses and contact lenses. One girl started moaning about her “awful, awful” eyesight – turns out she is shortsighted, with a score of -4 in one eye. I think my mouth may have dropped open in disbelief. I would KILL for eyes that good. Well, I would seriously maim, anyway; always assuming I could see my target, as my eyes are very much worse than that. To illustrate this point, I told them of a night about a year ago.
One night about a year ago, I rose from my bed to go to the toilet. Actually it was probably early morning, as there was enough light to see my way down the hall to the bathroom, even without my contact lenses in. Halfway down the hall there was some washing I must have dropped from the night before; a sock or something, fallen as I had carried the clean clothes back up to the bedroom. As I walked past it, I bent down and picked it up, bringing it up to my face so I could see what it was.
It was not a sock.
It was not any item of clothing at all.
It was a dead bird.
A Dead Bird.
My cat must have killed a dove in the night and brought it into the house and left it in the hall.
And I was holding it in my hand.
Right up close to my face.
Needless to say, I reflexively threw the bird away from me. I had no idea where it went since I am HALF BLIND, as has already been abundantly proven. I made it into the bathroom where I indulged in some compulsive hand washing and a few of those shivery things (which my mum calls “a grey goose flying over your grave” and I call “anything except for an explanation which references my future grave site”). I shot back to bed to alert Mr. T to the bird, the dead bird, there is a bird in the house! Bird! He didnt care. Damn him and his 20/20 vision.