An Open Letter to My Case of Pink Eye

Dear Pink Eye,

Remember me? The innocent girl who could never figure you out? I remember when we first met. I was in a sorority meeting and someone asked me if I was high. I was not high on marijuana, but in fact high on the inevitability of our future affair.

At first, I was so naive. I believed you were just irritation from using the cheapest brand of eyeliner and applying it directly to my eyeballs. I lived in denial for days, but it never got easier. I had never had pink eye before, even as you tore through elementary schools and freshman year dorms, leaving a wide, red, gooey trail. My friends danced around the subject, afraid to tell me that I looked like both Cheech and Chong.

Eventually, it was time to face the music. I woke up with my eyes crusted shut, like a metaphor for the blindness I had had to our situation. When I got the diagnosis that I had pink eye in both of my eyes, my world stopped. For an entire week, I would have to use eyedrops and not wear eye makeup, but you never cared. When I put those eyedrops in, it felt like the tears that were ready to fall down my face. It was over.

In fairness, I neglected you, too. I frequently forgot to put my eyedrops in every four hours– even though I once tried to in the middle of a fraternity party– which allowed me to string you along for several more days than necessary. I’m sorry.

Years from now, I’ll think back on all our good times, like when you made me look totally blazed the first week of classes or when people asked me if I had slept in my contacts. I’m sure when I look back, I will know that a passive-aggressive open letter was the best way to deal with our situation. Because I need you (and all our mutual family and friends and everyone else on the internet) to know how I feel and how you changed my life. And I need the ad revenue.

For anyone who went to a group workout class at the rec and got pink eye, I am sorry. I refused to deal with my problems and now you have to deal with them. I hope you can find some solace and inspiration in the fact that I didn’t let pink eye stop me from getting my spring break bod.

With love,

Megan

8 Things I Learned in The South

I was born in Topeka, Kansas and lived there until my freshman year of college. When I moved to Alabama, I did not think it would be that different. Both Kansas and Alabama were solid red states with an agrarian past, and though those were the only traits they had in common, it seemed like enough. I was wrong. Without further undulation, Eight Things I Learned in The South.

1. Where you’re from matters. It’s not enough to be from Birmingham; people want to know if you’re from Homewood or Vestavia Hills. Other popular questions include what high school you went to and if you have ever lived anywhere else. I once had a conversation with someone who argued that Kansas was “kind of like the South” even when I argued vehemently that it wasn’t (I think he was trying to do me a favor). In the South, meeting someone new inherently involves an unabridged geographic autobiography.
2. Food. The South has a monopoly on fried chicken. In fact, the easiest way to tell if you’re in the South is if the McDonald’s still carries the Southern Style Chicken Biscuit for breakfast. On another note, southerners have terrible Mexican food and can’t or won’t admit it.
3. Names. If you’re moving to the South, you need to step up your name game. The towns have great names: Hoxie, Humansville, Tupelo; the streets have great names: Tallapoosa, Arkadelphia; and the people have great names: Caroline, Mary Collier, anything ending in a III or IV. Southern names have spice.
4. Getting ready. I was not prepared for the amount of effort Southern women put into their appearance. I have never heard one say “Am I wearing too much makeup?” or “Does this outfit look like a costume?” even though sometimes the answer is yes. The concept of a natural look is not very popular here.
5. Dating. Dating in the South is magical. A Southern man carries no qualms about paying for dinner. I am actually unsure if my arms are physically capable of opening a door for myself or if they have atrophied beyond repair from disuse. I once offended a boyfriend by telling him I could walk myself home. It is truly a whole new world.
6. The climate. “Brrr,” says a Southerner wearing a long sleeve t-shirt when it’s 40 degrees outside. Southern people seem unfamiliar with the concept of anything heavier than a light jacket. I want to tell them that they don’t have to live this way; they can put on a coat.
7. Attractions. I can visit Gulf Shores, New Orleans, Nashville, the Great Smokey Mountains, Atlanta, Birmingham, and just about every SEC college town within five hours of Tuscaloosa. Within five hours of Topeka, I can go to such marvelous destination as Kansas City, St. Louis, Omaha, and Oklahoma City. The last two only half count because they’re terrible.
8. We have different definitions of what a gas station is. In Kansas, a gas station is a place for gas, snacks, and grabbing a gallon of milk when you forgot it at the grocery store. In Alabama, you can buy beer at the gas station but you can’t buy a zero-calorie beverage. Alabama gas stations are what stereotypes are based upon.

I wrote this for my Southern Studies class but it is 100% true. I only feel the need to tell y’all this because it violates my personal standard against writing lists but I actually thought it was pretty fun so I’m a hypocrite. Maybe there will be more lists in our future. Maybe I have a new lease on life.

Y’all.

Megan