I swear they really did. That’s my working theory anyway. In my grand and glamorous youth I had really long eyelashes. They were so long that it was difficult to find glasses that were comfortable because my lashes would brush against the lenses and irritate my eyes.
Well, don’t have that problem now. If they didn’t go so far as Yuma, the next theory is that they migrated to my chin and are living a happy life there, much to my annoyance. I suspect they’ve even invited friends to come live with them.
Because this body is the only one I have, I try to stay on friendly terms with it. The problem is that it seems to have a fiendish sense of black humor. I’ve considered hiring a personal assistant just to keep track of all the medications and supplements I’m supposed to ingest on a daily basis.
Occasionally I go on strike and refuse to take any pills for an entire day. Pffft, that always goes well. The lack of some random chemical coursing through my brain will send me into a freakish muscle spasm. The resulting sudden shriek of pain is embarrassing and scares the hell of whoever happens to be with me at the time. So I try to behave. It’s not easy though. I’ve spent a lifetime devoted to refusing to behave, just on general principles.
On another geo-political note, I consider myself damned lucky to live in a part of the world where my biggest problem on a given day is a sparsity of eyelashes, instead of whether or not my house is going to blow up.