Ruby eyes and sad goodbyes

Ruby eyes and sad goodbyes

If ever there is a good time to be sporting bloodshot eyes thanks to medication side effects, it would be when you leave your homeland. People know it is a sad moment and immediately ascribe your ruby sockets to sadness as opposed to something terribly infectious or even the result of staring too long into several glasses of claret.

Ruby eyes and sad goodbyes

If ever there is a good time to be sporting bloodshot eyes thanks to medication side effects, it would be when you leave your homeland. People know it is a sad moment and immediately ascribe your ruby sockets to sadness as opposed to something terribly infectious or even the result of staring too long into several glasses of claret.

The preceding weeks consisted of packing, cleaning, sorting and selling. As the pressure built (of the move, not the eyes), aided by the paint fumes from some last minute home maintenance, the lungs started severely protesting. So, to the doctor we went and soon returned with oodles of cortisone. Initially it boosted all energy levels so that Speedy Gonzalez would have struggled to keep up, but as it started petering out, the pressure converted to the eyeballs and… Voila! Welcome red eyes!

Not only were the peepers tinted, but also dry and convincingly close to the point of popping. Each morning was spent prying them open slowly. The eyelids were also pretty puffy — if those two words can be used in conjunction — somehow sucking up the eyelashes into its fatty abyss. The reflection of ‘a sight for sore eyes’ would bounce back daily from the bathroom mirror. Not a single beauty empire’s boastful range of miraculous make up would have remedied this situation.

Then there was the matter of the podgy fingers. No ring could fit those little sausages, yet again the result of cortisone as opposed to the hours of scrubbing and polishing (floors not food).

Being a sucker for torture, the brilliant decision to have a haircut pops into the obviously foggy head. This would be the first proper cut and blow in years and the strange little bleached hairdresser promises to only lop off a few centimetres. Taking advantage of the closed eyes, she seems to be sending a lot of locks floor wards. Eventually the do is complete and the eyes are opened, squinting at the bright light and the stranger staring back from the mirror. OMG! It can only be described in South African terms as a proper ‘tannie’ hairstyle.

Now, picture this… saying fond farewells at the airport all bland faced with bulging scarlet eyes, chubby appendages (fortunately the toes weren’t visible) and a weird little bouffant do. That’s when you know your loved ones truly must love you.

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