“The eyes are the window to the soul, so they say. That’s why I keep mine shut so much. I’m not resting. I’m keeping my soul from getting drafty. Also, people whose souls live in houses with large windows, like that woman over there, see, with them big eyes, they shouldn’t throw very small rocks. You could hit your own windows, or eyes as we’re discussing, and then either your soul gets out, in which case you’re damned for all eternity, or a bird gets in. The bird doesn’t sound all that bad, I know, but them things poop all over the place, and you don’t want to put down newspaper, cause then your soul will get to reading. Since there’s nothing good in the news, your soul will just get depressed, which as we all know, leads to impotence and being a liberal.”

“You’re drunk again, aren’t you, grandpa.”

“Not even close.”

“High?”

“Just a little, but that don’t make me wrong.”

“Sigh, let’s at least take the discussion to the parking lot before the whole wedding reception weighs in on that.”