Okay, fine. I wasn't stabbed in the eyeball, but I'm pretty sure if I was, it would feel like that. Anyway. I started crying, flapping around, and every once in a while, yelling an expletive*.
Poor Husband sat there and watched me. He tried to see what was in there. He went and got a mirror, so that I could try to see what was in there. And the whole time I kept flapping, squealing, trying not to claw my eye out, and just let the tears do their work.
After about five minutes, Husband finally said "would you like me to lick your eye?"
"WHAT?! NO! I would NOT like you to LICK my EYE! What the hell, dude?
"Well, how else will you get whatever it is out?"
"Who DOES that? If you lick my eye, I will KILL YOU!"
Because, while I am glad that my husband loves me enough to volunteer to lick my eye, I would apparently rather feel like I'm being stabbed than see this coming towards my eyeball. (Am I the only one who thinks that sounds like a really bad idea?)
And now if I ever get stung by a jellyfish, I know who will jump at the chance to pee on me.
*This will tell you exactly how much it hurt; I was yelling real expletives, not just "cheese and crackers!"