The One with Mr. Whistler

I have a stye in my eye. 

Not cool.

I get these blasted infections a couple times a year. 

And I don't know why. 

I don't share makeup or anything disgusting like that. 

(Sorry to offend you if you do share makeup.

But seriously, it's just not cool.)

However. 

I think I may have just had a teeny (and extraordinarily embarrassing) revelation.

It may be due to my slightly poor contact lens usage.

May being the operative word. 

I think I'll just leave it at that.

I would go into the specifics of this but that would produce no positive results.

In fact, my own mother might disown me.

So I'll just move on.

And bear the (literal) pain. 

But speaking of my mom, she's great.

And she has this little habit that is quite endearing. 

Whistling.

My mom is a hard core professional whistler.

She's not all that well known, but I think she could compete with the best.

And she's got these quirky little medleys that she whistles.

And we can all whistle it along with her.

And she has no clue what her medleys are.

It's hilarious. 

But I smiled the other day as I sat outside of my camper reading. 

From the opposite corner of the camp I heard a crystal clear whistle blending with the tweets of birds and the blowing breeze. 

This gentlemen whistles, whistles, and whistles. 

It's a lovely little habit. 

And even more so because it reminded me of my mom.

And I love my mom.