You provide a voluntary eye transplant service wherein people who want to see the world through someone else’s eyes can have them transplanted into their own skull for an exorbitant fee. Business was slow for a while because you could only do the operation for people who received eyes via a last will and testament. But after a long fight and pulling a lot of strings, you got a meeting with the organization handling the organs donated by people who select it on their driver’s licenses. You convinced them to allow bereaved spouses and children the chance to get the eyes of the deceased if they then donated their own eyes in turn, assuming that all the eyes in question are functioning. No one could challenge your argument, and now you’re making a lot of money off of bereaved women who want “Husband Eyes.”
Today you’re going to have a consult with a woman who has the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. She’ll show you her dead husband’s eyes in an igloo cooler. You feel like replacing her eyes with her husband’s would be the equivalent of slashing a Klimt canvas in a museum. You’ll tell her you can’t cut out her eyes because you just fell in love with them, and her. She’ll tell you she’s still deep in mourning for her husband, to the point that she is walking around with his eyes in a fucking igloo cooler, and that you’re being very inappropriate. She’ll tell you she doesn’t want the surgery anymore and she thinks she should be refunded her co-pay for the consult. You’ll say co-pays are nonrefundable. She’ll argue, but you won’t budge.
“Keep your goddamn eyes then,” you’ll say. “But I keep the fucking co-pay. I’ll keep it in my hands and you can come get it back on the day I die by reaching into my open-casket coffin at my wake and ripping it from my right palm, where I’ll have had the undertaker sew to the skin.”
Happy Husband Eyes Day!