Lost in Suburbia classic column: Seeing eye to eye … to eye
In certain Eastern spiritual traditions, the “Third Eye” is a mystical concept that represents a space of higher consciousness and enlightenment.
For me, it represents a zit right in the middle of my forehead.
“Nice third eye,” said my husband when I woke up one morning.
“Whaaa?” I questioned, running to the mirror in the bathroom.
“Can you see my future?” he asked jokingly.
“Yes,” I said, glaring alternately at him and the large pimple masquerading as another eye on my brow. “And it looks very dark if you don’t stop teasing me.”
Why I am still getting pimples at age 46 is a question for those who are far more enlightened than I. Fortunately, it’s not a regular occurrence, but the timing of its arrival and the placement of said pimple made me wonder if there might be a mischievous God of Zits who finds it amusing to have these things show up right on the tip of my nose, in a constellation on my chin, or smack between my eyes on the exact day that I am being photographed for something or addressing a large group of people. If I thought I could appease the God of Zits by making a sacrifice of Clearasil or ProActiv, I would, but I’m pretty sure this only works for if you are a teenager or Jessica Simpson.
According to my family, I already have eyes in the back of my head, and the vision of the two on my face is pretty sharp, so I really did not see a need for yet another eye on my forehead. I also do not really need a third eye to predict the future, because I already know before I wake up in the morning that my kids will not make their beds, the dog will chew up some socks, and my husband will ask me to pick up his dry cleaning.
What can I say - it’s a gift.
Since I already had more than enough eyes, and was already somewhat clairvoyant, I decided the new eye had to go, or at least had to get covered up. I was pretty sure that putting a pirate’s eye patch over the center of my forehead would attract more attention than just leaving the pimple there by itself, so instead, I decided to cover the darn thing up with some makeup and hope no one noticed.
“How you doin’ there Cyclops,” said my son when I came downstairs.
“Greetings,” said my daughter, giving me the Vulcan hand wave. “Do you come in peace?”
“I guess you can see it, huh?” I asked them gloomily.
“See what, Mom?” said my son. “You know, my vision isn’t as good as yours cuz I only have two eyes.
I gave him the evil eye. All three of them.
Determined not to let this slight imperfection be a blemish on my day, I glopped on more coverstick and went out to run my errands.
Thankfully, most of my morning was uneventful. But then while I was waiting for my turn to pay at the pet store, another customer tapped me on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” she asked. “Do you see the Greenies anywhere?” I looked behind me at the vast assortment of dog bones hanging on the wall and immediately saw one lone Greenie bone hiding behind some rawhide chews. I plucked it off the rack and handed it to her.
“Thank you so much!” she said. “You don’t happen to see any Booda Bones, too, do you?”
I looked at the rack once more, and plucked another package of bones off the wall for her.
“That’s amazing!” she exclaimed. “How do you do that?”
I shrugged. “I have an eye for it.”
This is a repeated Lost in Suburbia column, which has appeared in GateHouse Media newspapers since 2008. As Tracy Beckerman’s main column is shifting focus - her kids are grown and she has moved back to the city - we are rerunning her earlier work for readers who may have missed these the first time around. You can follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage/ and on Twitter at https://twitter.com/tracybeckerman.