The Beginning Of The End

I’ve always been a bit of a hypochondriac, so it should come as no surprise that I’m totally freaking out about this little red dot on my eyeball.

I discovered the little red dot yesterday after I got out of the shower. “What’s this on my eye?!” I asked my mom frantically. “Looks like a red dot,” she answered after a quick glance. “I KNOW it’s a red dot,” I said, “what’s it doing on my EYE?!” “It’s probably nothing,” she said. “Yeah, have a beer. You’ll feel better,” suggested my dad.

So I did. And then I had a few more beers and I pretty much forgot about the little red eyeball dot.

Until I woke up this morning and noticed that the little red dot was not quite as little as it had been yesterday. “I think this dot is getting bigger,” I announced with concern over coffee. “Yep. It is,” confirmed my mom without even the slightest hint of concern. “What do you think is wrong with me?” I asked. “Probably nothing,” my parents answered. “Do you think I should see a doctor?” I worried. “A psychiatrist maybe,” muttered my mom (who, for the record, combs -- with an actual comb -- the fringe on her oriental rugs and yells at you if you step on them). “Mom, seriously, I think there’s something wrong with my eye,” I insisted. “Megan, you probably POKED yourself in the eye or something the other night when you were drinking yourself silly,” said my exasperated mother. “Well, I think I would REMEMBER poking myself in the eye, don’t you?” I huffed.

My mom just raised an eyebrow.

So I have a little red dot on my eyeball, which I guess we’re chalking up to what my family calls an alcohol-related incident (or ARI for short). Either that or I’m going blind.