The Eyes Have It

As you all know, I'm invincible. When I say that, you should keep in mind what it means, or more specifically what it doesn't mean. You see, my invincibility (wow that word has a lot of 'i's in it) is a physical trait. Like any superhero like figure, I have my weaknesses.

No, I'm not referring to doughnuts, which is apparently a common misconception (the Princess once, when trying to explain why I hadn't done something, actually spoke the words "he was probably distracted thinking about doughnuts"). My weakness is a pair of brown eyes that have been manipulating me for over twenty years now. For reasons I can not entirely explain, I seem to have no resolve when faced with these particular orbs. I don't know if it's the heavy lids or the deep chocolate color that lulls me into complacency. I think it's something more though, for simple physical characteristics cannot explain the thrall that I am held in when faced with them.

I don't think of myself as being a docile henchman to my love's demands (and if any of you do, my ego would appreciate you keeping it to your damned selves). Sometimes a favor is asked, but I'm tired or distracted or just don't feel up to it. So long as my attention remains elsewhere, I'm safe. But should I find myself actually looking into those eyes as the favor is asked, minutes later I'm administering a foot rub or retrieving a blanket. Sometimes I don't even remember how I got there. I'm telling you, the woman has some kind of feminine hoodoo working that I'm powerless against.

In all seriousness, it stuck me today that I could not tell you if my wife has actually aged in the last twenty years. I can, with perfect clarity, bring up images of every crease that has become a part of my own visage in the past two decades, but draw a blank when I try to do the same for my love. One would assume that some variety of aging has occurred, but I have her senior picture here on my desk, one of the few photographs that do her beautiful eyes justice (as someone who isn't fond of having her picture taken, the smile may be there, but her eyes don't necessarily match it), and when I look at it, I see the same big, brown eyes I saw when I left for work this morning.

Cicero said "The face is a picture of the mind as the eyes are its interpreter" (well, he said something like that - when he said it was all Roman and stuff and thus harder to understand). When I look into her eyes, I see so much energy, so much intellect, such humanity that sometimes it startles me. Her eyes can convey so much about how she feels, whether she's playful or proud or tired or hurting, and always with such grace and beauty.

So there it is, my overwhelming weakness. Fortunately, she has thus far used her powers for good - I shudder to think what might happen if that were to change. I can't honestly call it a debilitating weakness though. Besides, I guarantee that I'll be looking into them the first chance I get.

Free will is so overrated anyway.