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Ho! Ho! No…

Here’s the story of vengeance foiletti, agonising tweezing, and pomo.

I don’t know what you’ve done this week, but I repeatedly poked myself in the eye with a tweezer. I can’t say I enjoyed it. Or even that I wanted to do it. It was more of a necessity if I’m being honest. I had not one but two eyelashes right in the centre of my eyeball. I mean, there really are no good ways to get one out, never mind two. The tweezers didn’t really work the first time. Or the second. Or the fifth. Nor did the sheer volume of tears flowing out of my eyeballs, you know, what with all the repeated pokings. I then proceeded to rub my finger all over my eyeball, but that didn’t work, either. I think a cotton swab would’ve been a good idea, but no man has one of those in his bathroom. So, in the end, I just left it be. No idea what happened to them. I can’t see them anymore, but, then again, I can’t see much anyway. Still, it’s not the most painful thing I’ve had in my eyeball. I once woke up with an eyelash pointing down so it was poking itself right into my eyeball. Ah, no probs, I thought. I’ll just pluck it. Have you ever plucked an eyelash? I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loudly. Also, is it supposed to bleed non-stop for a couple hours? Hmm…

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