Love is Blind

I had come to the end of a long day of pickleballing and poker when I fell into bed, a happy but exhausted little camper. Oh, and don't forget beautiful. I was was a happy, exhausted, beautiful little camper because without thinking, I had hit the sack that night with all of my jewelry and my fake eyelashes still on. As soon as it occurred to me that I was still all blinged out,  I rolled over and carefully removed the adornments and set them on the table for the next day.

At least that's what I thought.  I thought I'd wake up and find everything as I left them, but I was wrong.  The next morning one of my eyelash pieces was missing.

For those of you that don't have any experience with false eyelashes, there is one thing you should know....they don't walk away. In fact one of their best qualities is their inanimateness. So, finding one of them missing, as you can imagine, was unusual.

The list of possible scenarios leading up to it's disappearance was almost non-existent.  In fact, I could only think of one. Perhaps a modest breeze blew it away? Maybe, unless you consider the facts that: 1. Other items would have been blown out of place as well and everything else was still exactly as I left them.  2. There was nothing in the room that could have produced such a breeze in the first place.

So without a plausible scenario, I was left to focus on a plausible culprit instead. Some"thing" didn't happen to it; some"one" did.  And...because I am unfairly prejudiced against spiders I had no other choice than to blame an arachnid.  Species profiling.  It happens.

But don't get me wrong.  I am quite generous when it comes to the scapegoats in my life.  This spider, this eyelash thief, isn't to be condemned for his actions.  He is to be understood.  After all, my eyelashes have flittered their way in to many a lonely man's heart.  They are beguiling and sensuous and from a spider's point of view...quite leggy.

So who's to say that when this eight legged culprit met my eyelash in the middle of the night on my nightstand and realized that she wasn't going to eat him alive after sex or lay eggs on his head...that he didn't fall madly and deeply in love with her?  Who's to say that the two of them aren't right now at this very moment sitting across from each other at a tiny, romantic table for two somewhere...utterly twitter-pated?

It's "awe, how sweet" and "awe, how sad" all at once, isn't it?  A broken heart looms glaringly in this little critter's near future as soon as he realizes who she really is (or isn't). Because love is blind and SO very drenched in optimism, we can...

Oh hey...my eyelash.  I just found it stuck in my hair.  Never mind....