I'm so proud of my lovely wife, and if you could have seen her swearing like a longshoreman in front of the bathroom mirror last month, you would be as proud of her as I am. Yes, Laurel finally has learned how to put in a contact lens. Now, it is true that five year old children undoubtedly can do this without any problem, but Laurel, who is a bit older than that, had some unique problems that she had to overcome. To wit, a blink reflex that wouldn't stop. I can't begin to tell you what we (mostly her, but I did some extensive coaching, as a long-time contact lens wearer) went through. Several trips to the eye doctor's office for training. Emails to our friendly optometrist ("Help, what do I do now?!"). Consultations with the International Dictionary of Obscene Language to learn new ways of cursing the damn contact lens, her damn blink reflex, and the damn aging process that makes it necessary to correct her vision.
But now, all is going pretty smoothly. I rarely hear profanity in the morning now, unless it is coming from me as I watch the newest lunacy to emerge from either the Bush administration ("High" terrorist alert upgrade today; isn't the U.S. Iraq policy supposed to make us safer?), or the Republican leadership in the Oregon legislature (oh, now you want to save critical health care services and state trooper positions after the failure of Measure 28; why didn't you want to do this before the election?). Tip for any other hyper-blinkers out there who need to put in a contact lens: get a magnifying mirror. This helped Laurel a lot. Myself, I would never look into one of those things. A quick glance revealed deep shadowy sinister canyons, which I could only assume were wrinkles writ large. I don't need that much reality.