At the end of what seemed like years of watching makeup tutorials on YouTube, scouring high-end fashion magazines for “eye-mazing” tips, and wondering how the hazy reflection of myself in the mirror was so sexy AND smoldering, I woke up one morning with severe pain and blurriness in each eye.
My smoky eyes were finally coming in!
After the vomiting died down, I caught a bleary glimpse of my new eyes in the mirror. My irises were perfectly cloudy with a chance of irresistible. This is what every woman strives for in her beauty routine: the sophistication, the drama, and the sultriness of two smoky, overcast eyes. Not only that, the halos I saw around everything created a heavenly visage. This must be what celebrities see! The tears came and didn’t stop, long after I was finished crying. Finally—I was a smoky-eyed temptress!
I left my apartment and immediately turned heads—in the grocery store of all places—when I couldn’t stop fainting in the frozen foods. While one of the handsome EMS workers was waving his hand in front of my face and asking me how many fingers he was holding up, I realized that this was just the attention I had always been craving.
I wasn’t blind; I was blinding with my indescribably hot, smoky eyes. What the ophthalmologist didn’t seem to understand was that my glaucoma was an achievement to be celebrated, no matter how much I protested and had to be subdued by the medical staff.
Apparently, my sexy, smoky eyes were symptomatic of the group of diseases that causes damage to the eye’s optic nerve that can result in blindness or vision loss, glaucoma. And apparently a provocatively dangerous kind—acute angle closure glaucoma—or as I like to call it, “the pretty disease.”
Since the diagnosis and completing the refusal-of-care forms, I still see hope for eyes that drive men wild, although I can’t see much else at the moment. I learned that smoky eyes are not curable, which is awesome. I said it once and I will say it again—the medical field will never understand this hard-to-achieve yet classic look. What are they going to tell me next, that the lumps in my breasts don’t create voluptuous cleavage? I’m not letting the medical community hold me down—I can’t even see them anymore.
