Stink/dead eye. The true meanings.
From Monkee at www.monkeychapps.com
No, this is the good one! Thats the joke I like to play on those that seem a bit uncomfortable asking me about my eye. Its actually a replaced cornea that was badly scarred. I wish I had a good story about how it happened like I was injured trying to find Ossama Bin Laden or it was injured during a fight with ghost pirates. Alas nothing as glamorous. The iris is stretched and it looks like a cat eye. I usually hear “thats cool” and I reply with my old standard ” how cool, cool enough for you to want to give me cash/ make out/ wash my car”? No takers yet, but I am patient. I digress.
The shape of the eye sometime give an ominous look leading people to think that I am scowling at them. I found out this was known as the stink/skunk/evil eye. My usual jocularity and silly antics put people at ease and I no longer am placed in the “mean guy” category. With that said I will now retell a story, a story of pain. A story of disgust and trauma only seen by trauma surgeons and homicide detectives.
It was a glorious spring day. A day that could put the most devout curmudgeon and Nair-do-well in the best of spirits. A day when I took no offense at doing one of my least favorite chores. Mowing the lawn. I hate all the prep work and extras that one does just to cut grass. Shovel poop, empty the catcher, fill the garbage bags and so on. I call shenanigans on all that! I’m a free spirit! I will just forgo the catcher and that other drudgery that keeps me from the sweet sweet smell of fresh cut grass.
I mow. I mow sans catcher(the little rocks that gently pelt my shins are not bad). The grass will fly out the catcher attachment, dry up and blow away. No problem. I mow over the dog doody. It’ll scatter all over and not be a problem.
Halfway though I see a pile, take aim and run over it. I never thought a piece of poo could exit the catcher hole, catch the wind and hit me. The odds of that are huge. Even greater are the odds of that same poo making that turn, catching an updraft and flying at my eye! The stink eye non the less. It was like a scene from the matrix only with dog poo. It was horrible and I still carry the scars. What I can’t figure out is why I felt running around like a mad man yelling “poo” would help me.
So now when I am asked about my “stink eye” I do have a good story.
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