A Pirate’s Life for Me

Dear Oma and Tante,

A-hoy there matey! Call in the armada! I’ve been hornswaggled!

Mama and Daddy took me to that Salt Lake City eye doctor again. He was really nice and let me watch a movie and look at a mechanical chicken that hopped up and down and cock-a-doodle-doo-ed. I was very cooperative and didn’t fuss and generally had a good time.

Then he dropped the boom. He said I need an eye patch to fix my wandering eye. It was eye patch or surgery. Mama and Daddy chose the patch.

I say, “Not all those whose eyes wander are lost!” But Mama says, “hold still!”

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of milk.

I hate wearing my eye patch. I have to wear it for two hours every day. Mama and Daddy got me patches with pink and princesses and all kinds of silliness to make me forget that I have a big patch on my eye and I can’t see anything.

What kind of a sucker do they think I am?

My eye patch has sticky edges with a big pad in the middle. Like a big Band-Aid. My face decided it didn’t like that patch and got all red and bumpy and itchy where the sticky part sticks.

My face is very smart.

For the first two days I cried and cried and said, “My eye patch is hurting me!” Except I kind of said it in a southern accent: “Mah aye patch is heurtin’ me!” Then I cried for two hours. When Mama took off my patch it was wet with tears.

Daddy said, “Schedule the surgery.” Mama said, “Let’s try Milk of Magnesia instead.”

Milk of Magnesia?

I guess what works for the dungbie works for the face, cause Mama wiped some Milk of Magnesia on my face, let it dry, then stuck that Band-Aid right on. It totally worked.

Skurvy-dog Mama.

Even though the patch isn’t itchy anymore, I still cry a lot. Mama says pirates don’t cry.

I’ll bet Blackbeard cried sometimes. Maybe in his bunk. At night.

Since mah aye patch isn’t heurtin’ me any more, I’ve been working on whining. Like this:

Me: “Ah don’t want mah aye patch.”

Mama: (getting out the Milk of Magnesia) “You don’t want your eye patch?”

Me: “Ah don’t want mah aye patch.”

Mama: (holding my arms down) “I know, you don’t want your eye patch.”

Me: “Ah don’t want mah aye patch!”

Mama: (unwrapping the eye patch) “Noted.”

Me: “Could you not say ‘noted’?”

I’ll bet nobody told Blackbeard that he was “noted.”

Mama says it’s cool to be a pirate. But it turns out nothing good happens when you’re a pirate. I tried to plunder Sabrina’s room, but she totally tattled on me.

I’ll bet nobody tattled on Anne Bonny.

I tried to get Boo to walk the plank, but he bit me and ran away.

I'll be nobody bit the Dread Pirate Roberts.

The food stinks. You don’t get any Pirate’s Booty or Chips Ahoy or anything. It’s all peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat hardtack. At least the apple juice wards off the scurvy. 

Now Mama takes me everywhere with that stupid eye patch. Everyone tells me how fabulous my hot pink patch is. If it’s so fabulous, they can wear it.

Actually, Sabrina tries to wear it. She thinks it’s like a big fun Band-Aid. That little girl loves a Band-Aid. Mama let her try one on the first day so that I would watch Sabrina and think the eye patch was cool. Sabrina wore it while we ate a treat, but then after about 30 second she said she was all done.

Landlubber.

Daddy tried to take me to church in the eye patch. He said that if I didn’t wear it to church in the morning then I’d have to wear it after my nap in the afternoon. After my nap was a football game, and Daddy didn’t want me wandering around saying, “Mah aye patch is heurtin’ me!” during his game.

Mama said that she didn’t need me saying, “Mah aye patch is heurtin’ me!” and “Time to go home?!” really loud all in one church service. So Daddy lost.

When I’ve worn my eye patch for two hours, Mama takes it off. Let me tell you how much fun it is having a big Band-aid ripped off your eyebrow every day. Shiver me timbers!

Anyway, I don't recommend the pirate's life, unless you can be a privateer or something.

I think I’ll go see what’s happening on the poop deck.

Love,
Sad Me