I went to the eye doctor a few weeks ago because my left eye had been twitching for about two weeks. Usually it happens if I’m overly tired, but two weeks was a little excessive so I made an appointment with the optometrist at Target.
Because when you think good eye health, you think Target.
I ran into my girlfriend, K, in the parking lot. We both spend an excessive amount of time at Target and we’ve accidentally run into each other several times over the past couple years. (In fact, it's our mutual love of the Retail Holy Land that binds us together in friendship. That and the fact that we're both batsh*t crazy with this whole Motherhood gig.) I told her I was headed to my appointment and that I figured I had early-onset Parkinson’s or some sort of seizure disorder. I have a flair for the dramatic . . .
After my appointment as I was loading my little ducklings into the Swagger Wagon, I saw K again. Concerned, she asked what my prognosis was. Her face lost all color when I told her, “it’s worse than I thought.”
|Coffee = Love|
Panicked, her hand on my arm in genuine friendship, she asked quietly, “what? What is it?”
With a catch in my throat, I swallowed and delivered the news. “She wants me to cut out caffeine.”
I’d rather have Parkinson’s.
So yes, I still have the twitch. A little facial tic never hurt anyone, and it's a small price to pay for caffeinated happiness. I have no self control, discipline, or will power. I admit it. Don't judge me.