I need me a swanky eye patch. My friends think I’m just replicating Cap’n Sparrow or Rihanna and getting myself a sexy new accessory for SS09 but no, I hurt my eye. Really. I’m typing this column in Times New Roman size 20, bold. With a forest green background in white font recommended by Victoria of WOM Guide during an exquisite press dinner at Aqua prepared by the talented young Spanish chef Alberto Hernández, who’ll be here all May to create some fabuloso El Bulli-esque dishes. Yes, you heard me plug it here first, so go and check it out before he leaves. Oh my eye? Here’s what happened: last Sunday evening, I was rushing to a bhiksha (alms served to a holy man in a devout Hindu household) at my guru’s. It was a special occasion, as it was her parents’ 50th wedding anniversary (yes, gurus have parents too). And Swami Tejomananda, basically the leader of my cult, was to grace us with his holy presence. Apparently, my eyelids fluttered in a state of excited frenzy at the upcoming satsang (Sanskrit for “party that keeps it real”) whilst I was trying to put my right contact lens in, causing the lens to flip sideways. I was still unconsciously applying pressure, so I sliced my eyeball with the side of the HARD lens. Monday morning, my right eye refused to open, and it felt like someone (well... me) had stabbed me in the eye with hot knives. Since I only have two eyes, I decided to go to Dr. Au Yeung, who’s been my ophthalmologist for like, forever. And his clinic has the same interior as it did in the 80s, which makes me think HE’s the blind one. He told me to keep my eye bandaged for at least 24 hours, and gave me four days off work. Whee. Ouch. Then I called my psychic friend Maloy. She said, “OMG, I just went to the eye doctor today as well!” Her left cornea had been slashed when she unwittingly looked down into her scissors while cutting her own hair. So she had a left eye boo boo, and I had my right eye boo boo. Coincidence? I think not. Maybe we’ve spent too much time giving people the evil eye. Witch, please. STFU. Oh all you haters can high five yourselves. And then sit down and shut it. Saturday I went to Ovologue for... get this, yet another birthday party. Apparently it’s still quite the hotspot for dinner parties. I was one-eye blind so I avoided looking around to check out the who’s who dining around me. I mean, I didn’t want them to think that I was winking at them all and inflate their egos, as winking’s pretty much the only way I can get a better look at my quarry. Then we headed up to Kee Club, where we had booked a room, and enjoyed the fascinating power trip of telling whomever we didn’t recognize to GTFO of our “private” space. The birthday boy felt a bit less restrained than usual and screamed at two men in white who kept coming in and out without closing the door. Hello they were our waiters, Raymond. After all the complimentary champagne was gone, nobody came in to bother us, so we got out of our room and had to mingle and dance with strangers.