The Gnat

Last night, Fighting Nun and I had a discussion the likes of which no one has ever heard:

Bloody Munchkin: Fighting Nun, come here for a second.
Fighting Nun, sitting at computer, sullenly: Why?
Bloody Munchkin, somewhat anxiously: Because I need you to check my eye for a gnat?
Fighting Nun: You need me to check your eye for a what?
Bloody Munchkin, more exacerbated: While I was walking the dog, a gnat dive-bombed my eye and now I have gnat body parts commingling with my eyeball juice.
Fighting Nun: Heh.
Bloody Munchkin: Would you stop laughing and look AT MY EYE for a GNAT body.

Moments later:

Fighting Nun: Yep. There's a gnat carcass in your eyeball alright, go upstairs and flush it out.
Bloody Munchkin: O.k.
Fighting Nun: Oh and Bloody Munchkin?
Bloody Munchkin: Yeah?
Fighting Nun: Try not to get any more gnats in your eye on the way up there (Insert an eight-year-old's chuckle here).
Bloody Munchkin, with anger rising: Grrrrr.

Not a conversation someone has everyday, I'm guessing. Also, not one I ever want to have again. So yeah, I had a gnat carcass tucked in between my eyeball and my lower eyelid for the better part of fifteen minutes last night. The ten minutes or so it took to flush out the little body? Apparently that was enough time for Fighting Nun to put together a whole ream of jokes about said incident in his head. From that point on it became "Try not to get any more gnats stuck In Your Eye." and "Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Blink." Gee thanks. So helpful. Remind me to write that on your gravestone.

You know who I feel the worst for in this little anecdote, well besides me, the gnat-in-the-eye recipient? The gnat. Poor little Garry McGnatersons, just flying around, minding his own business, signalling to make a right hand turn with his teeny-tiny appendages-as-turn-signals, when all the sudden his being squished between an eyeball and lower lid. I mean, out of the many ways a creature can die, getting one's self sandwiched in between an eyeball and an eyelid is not a way Mother Earth intended for her creatures to go I'm guessing. You think Mr. McGnaterson had an interesting conversation with the Gnat version of St. Peter (who I shall lovingly call St. Gnatter from here on in)?Picture it, he got to little gnat heaven and St. Gnatter was all "And how'd you die?" and poor Mr. McGnaterson looked down at the cloud floor and was all like "I accidently divebombed myself into a human's eye." and St. Gnatter, and all the other gnats who had died by being froggy food start snickering. And then poor Mr. McGnaterson would have to explain before the heavenly gnat gates that as his little gnat soul left his little gnat body, he watched me wash his carcass down the faucet and down the drain. *Sniff*. Man, if I'd only known how much this would effect me, I would have given the McGnaterson a proper send off. I didn't realize how much I'd get involved until now.

And now I've snapped myself out of it because.... I had a GNAT! In my EYE!!!! And more fodder for Fighting Nun to MAKE FUN OF ME!!! Like he needed any!!! I'm not sure what my point was with this diatribe other than... I HAD A GNAT!!! IN MY EYE!!!