A few weeks before the ice storm, I had my annual eye exam. I don’t mind the exam except for the drops. As usual, they put yellow drops in my eyes to check the eye pressure. They gave me a tissue to wipe my eyes but didn’t hand me a mirror. Half blinded, I wiped as much of the liquid from my skin and was thankful for the dark glasses they offered. I remembered to keep the glasses on until I arrived home. The last time I had my eyes examined, I walked around like a creature from the swamp with blinded, black eyes oozing yellow.
As I felt my way out of the doctor’s office, I realized that I couldn’t drive very far. Luckily, there was a big box store nearby. Blindly, I collected a few items before coming to the toilet paper aisle. Anticipating a drawn out ice storm, the store had stocked a mountain of toilet paper. By standing close, I could see large red print, usually indicting a sales item. I picked up the package, loaded everything in my car and cautiously drove home.
After waiting for my eyes to clear, I unloaded the car and was shocked to see I’d bought a package of 45 toilet paper rolls. I have a small family and a small house and unless I could cover that package with a table cloth and use it as a side table, I had nowhere to store it.
Once the storm landed and the streets turned icy, I became the most popular person in my neighborhood.
