I have always said, "one of the benefits of getting old is our eyesight dims so we cannot see all our blemishes and wrinkles."
But then I had cataract surgery a few months ago and was absolutely shocked at how I had aged overnight. But that has been taken care of. Today my left eye is bandaged.
After a partial adjustment to senior citizenship, a couple of little blemishes appeared on my once beautiful face. Beautiful? My teen aged bridegrown told me so on our wedding day, wrote beautiful love letters declaring the same for the two years he served as a Marine in World War II and keep up the same line down to his fatal heart attack 47 years after our wedding day. This member of "The Greatest Generation" knew how to talk to a woman." God bless his memory! (Let me add, my husband did not claim to be, nor was he a saint. And he soon knew for sure his bride was not always "beautiful" in appearance nor behavior.)
Yesterday, as I lay on my back at Emory Clinic with two doctors carving on my face, one of the doctors said, " I hope you have a a good story ready to explain how you got this black eye." The only black eyed story I have heard is a man explaining to his co-workers, "It is my wife and my firewood so it is none of your business."
Forgive me dear feminist friends? How far we have come. Only my generation of women would dare to repeat the story above. So I need the help on anyone still reading. Does anyone out there know a better story about black eyes that I can tell in church Sunday morning?