My eye has been twitching all weekend.
It started on Friday, just a little flicker while I was watching television.
By Saturday, it was happening every few minutes.
People asked, “Are you okay? Is something wrong with your eye?”
I was so embarrassed. Ashamed by my uncontrollable little spasm.
Especially when, by Sunday, men at church thought I was flirting. Wink, wink.
It wasn’t until nighttime, when my eye twitched again, and a sandwich bag fell off the counter, that I realized something.
After years and years of practice, it’s happened.
It’s finally happened.
By tomorrow, I fully expect to move furniture. To clean my house. To change my outfit.
Not with my magic nose.
But with my magic eye.