I have just read today’s posts on the blogs I follow. Some are about critically important subjects. Some are deeply moving. Some are hilarious.
Now I take keyboard in hand to write my post for the day. It is not going to be important, it is not emotionally stirring and it is not hilarious.
It’s just about an eyeball. A chocolate one.
This week our optometrist has a bowl of silver-foil-wrapped chocolate eyeballs on his counter. We brought an eyeball home for my brother Tim. I put it in the plastic container with his Thursday morning’s pills.
When Tim got up we were making lunch. I pointed to his day’s pills, saying I’d added a new one. He looked alarmed. Then he peered into the tiny compartment, fished out the eye, examined it, exclaimed over it, and put it back. Meanwhile I made us each a tuna sandwich and asked if he’d say his Hebrew grace for us. We three held hands and he looked thoughtfully at his plate. He tries to customize his prayers for the food we’re having but he couldn’t think of one that applies to fish. I said, “How about eyeballs?”
He was still considering.
“I don’t need one for that,” he said with dignity, “because I’m not going to eat it. I’m going to save it.”
With the same dignity he responded to a McDonald’s Sweet Chili Chicken Wrap (Crispy) the other day. As soon as Tim took one bite, one of us asked him, “How do you like it?”
He formed the answer carefully. “Give me a more intimate acquaintance with it.”
He can be such fun to have around.