I was 18 at the time and hideously inflicted with conjunctivitis. It had spread to both eyes and kept me mostly indoors out of the sun, away from those who would shy away from my freakish fish-eye appearance.
Being 18, I was very upset to be missing the weekend’s festivities — the ritual of going to the pub, holding a classy drink in each hand and bouncing along to the local band. But most of all I missed my loving squeeze of six months, Paul.
He was lovely during the onset of my affliction. That Friday afternoon, he drove me to the doctor as my eyes were too itchy and painful to watch the road myself, and held my hand and grimaced as I plucked beads of discharge from out of my eyelids — I suppose we hadn’t been together long enough for such a moment of reality, but he seemed to take it well.
On the way home he informed me casually that he would be at the pub that night. It seemed my fantasy of cuddles and movie-watching was out. I guess he simply didn’t want to catch my disease, and fair enough.
He lived with a roommate not far from my house so, as the prescription drugs had helped a little, the next morning I drove around to his place to take him out for breakfast. I meant it to be a surprise, a loving romantic gesture, and I felt proud as I let myself quietly into his flat (I had a key!) when I heard it: giggling. At first I hoped was coming from his roommate’s room, but his car was missing from the front of the house, wasn’t it?
Naturally, the worst came to mind as I moved closer to the source of the sound, my hands clenched. Quieting my breathing, I crept along like an assassin in the night. Face-to-face with his bedroom door, I could make out some ‘other’ sounds and I jumped to the only conclusion available.
I found myself right in the middle of that old hypothetical question: What would you do if you found your boyfriend in bed with someone else?
First, I think I had a mini heart attack, and my stomach cramped. My eyes started burning with salty tears that seared my conjunctivitis — and that’s when it came to me! My mum had gone to great lengths to ensure that I didn’t wash my face with any of her washers, or use any of her towels in case it spread the disease. I decided to use this information right now.
Darling Paul’s bathroom was not far from the bedroom and I set to rubbing my angry tears onto anything I could find to make my revenge a reality. I had a moment of insane glee mixed with rising bile when I spotted a woman’s top on the ground and a massive bra! I remembered how Paul was always going on about large breasts, which only made me angrier (mine weren’t quite what he had in mind) so I decided that she and I could share more than Paul’s lovin’!
I ran from the house, almost killed myself in the car on the way home and cried all of the bacteria out of my eye sockets. Or perhaps I’d left it all back at his unit.
Needless to say, he contacted me later that day and, after much emotional teenage drama, we broke up. He rebounded straight onto ‘Miss Boobs’.
I found out days later that Paul had conjunctivitis so bad that he couldn’t open his eyes more than a slit and may have permanent eye damage. I have never told anyone what I did and now, some years later, I do feel terrible!
But as the hypothetical asks, how would you react? Well, that’s how I did!
Picture: Getty Images.
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