I have pink-eye. I shouldn't be surprised. I'm in Tallahassee this week for work and I always contract this particular plague at least once. It's an occupational hazard of working at the Capitol, a veritable vortex of disease. On any given day, thousands of people roam the halls spreading all manner of germy ickiness via handshakes and hugs, with nary a 3 oz. bottle of Purell in sight.
This year it happened early: this is just the first of six committee weeks in January and February, in advance of the Legislative Session that begins on March 6th and runs for nine weeks. Fifteen weeks of work in a petri dish. Oh joy!
Pink-eye is not fun, it's not at all pretty (especially when disease travels from the right eye and also infects the left eye...when that happens, I look like Kate Moss at the height of heroin chic) and it's expensive. In addition to the cost of the medicinal eyedrops, ridding oneself of the pesky pink-eye plague requires tossing every bit of makeup and every makeup tool that has been in contact with the virus. Lovely (read: pricey) Chanel products are not exempt. Sigh.
Fortunately, as a state worker, I have excellent healthcare benefits. Unfortunately, I haven't figured a way to force the Chanel counter to accept my insurance.
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