Lemon Laws

Genetics are a peculiar concept. Sometimes certain genetic combinations can come together in such a way that you get amazing results. Albert Einstein. Alessandra Ambrosio. This kid. But sometimes such a meeting of the genes can create unexpected results. How are parents to know what could possibly happen when they procreate? They don't. They just marry and hope for the best. Genes are a crap shoot, and some aren't as lucky as others.

I qualify for the latter category, as I am basically a lemon. You know how a car can look fine on the outside at a dealership, but if you buy it and take it home you discover that it has all these physical problems that weren't advertised? That's a lemon. I'm like that, but biological.

The whole lemon thing started to show when I was two with an eye condition opthamologist call "strabismus." Imagine a lazy eye. Now imagine it's exact opposite, an ocular muscle so powerful that it can totally counteract all the other muscles in the eye. Instead of one eye lolly-gagging around and staring at the periphery, a lá a fish, my left eye just kinda chills around staring inward at my nose. Like Groucho Marx. (But cuter?) And it's only my left eye. You know when that type of movement is useful? When you're an iguana. But when you're a human? You only see that stuff at circuses. (Albeit a very lame circus.)

Thus, growing up I avoided focusing on any object and all objects too close to my face, lest my "special" eye cross in. For the most part this tactic worked, but it also meant that I met with more than my share of doors, chairs, and small children who dared cross my blurry, unfocused path. Luckily with the passing of years, this eye trait only shows itself to the world when I am overtired and don't have enough energy to focus on not focusing. Weird? Perhaps. But people know how to handle someone with a lazy eye. They laugh appropriately. Since mine did unexpected things (Why only one eye? "Was I doing it on purpose?" Yes, because I just think it looks super cool) I usually just got a mixture between fascination and disgust. Disgust was not exactly a sentiment I was going for in middle school, especially as everyone else was getting their first kiss.

"Hey Em, want to go see that movie... ew nevermind, what's wrong with your eye?!"
"Nothing!!... love me?"

Thanks, parents. Hours of my life that I will never get back were spent fretting over my first kiss. (What if I forgot and try to actually look at him?!) In reality, my first kiss went over decently well, happening at a birthday party at my friend's backyard barn where I nearly choked on a twizzler. But that's a different story entirely.

Now, I love my parents. They are great. They fed me, attended all of my soccer games, put me through school, and still laugh at my jokes. (Because they are FUNNY.) And I am, for the most part, healthy and normal. Well, except for my jaw. But that isn't entirely the fault of the gene's of my parents.

If you didn't know, apparently there are repercussions to signing your signature on that little waiver that the hospital makes you sign before anyone performs any surgery (and one should always take the time to fully consider the consequences of such surgery). With my wisdom teeth surgery last spring, all four- the whole she-bang, I was one of the rare statistics of "people who have had bad things happen to them during surgery." PSA: Kids- it could happen to you. I lost the feeling on the right side of my jaw, lip, and tongue. As in, I lost all the feeling. Fun for poking yourself with sharp objects as a parlor trick? Definitely. (Also another characteristic of a pretty lame circus.) But except for the very real potential to drool on people when I'm not paying attention, it's not wholly bad. I did learn to chew food in a whole new way. I've read somewhere that doing old tasks in a new way is mentally stimulating. Would I have rather just rearranged my room? Maybe, but beggars can't always be choosers.

My friend TP mentioned my jaw to her professor (as any person would, I suppose) and he told her that the same thing had happened to him. (I'm not alone!) And that the feeling had even come back. (There is hope!) ...after only 27 years. So. There's that.

So I am a cross-eyed, drooling lemon. But I am a healthy cross-eyed, drooling lemon. And my mom loves me. Because she has to. And will likely be the only comment on this post. Hi, Mom! I don't really curse your genes.

...Most days.

Editors note: I realize that these two things alone do not a lemon make. I just didn't want to go on and on about my own ailments. But since some believe this to be whining (coughDancough), I will continue on and prove the lemon-ness. For example, I am also mildly allergic to most things under the sun. Not anaphylactic shock allergic, but just an ever-present undercurrent of allergic reactions to most things on God's green earth. So, that's cool. Most preservatives give me migraines, even the ones in the medicine that is supposed to alleviate migraines. I'm even nauseously allergic to the smell of peppermint, the very thing that is supposed to soothe upset stomachs. I can induce an asthma attack after only one dance to a Lady Gaga song. (Rah rah oh la wheeze... wheeze.) My hearing is pretty wonky from the years of ear infections, infections that can easily be traced back to a maybe not so incredibly hearty gene pool; my left ear is shot in terms of the upper and lower register. I can't remember anything short term, but the daily happenings of hollywood stars is something that always seems to stick. I also have no feeling in my left pinky toe. There now, Dan, I feel much better.

I think.