E = Eyeball entrepreneur

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If words were rocket fuel, I could have travelled to the farthest exoplanet and back several times on the strength of the sentence: 'Remember to look with your eyes and not your hands.' 

My son was a toucher. The only way he could really process an object was to feel it... 
and sniff it. 
He always was special and different. Okay, full disclosure, he still is. 
And although nowadays he CAN refrain from touching, he'd really prefer not to. I can almost see the tips of his fingers glowing when he is in a new environment.

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I imagine Sir Henry liked to run his fingers over objects too, like these smooth, cleverly crafted eye-baths. Natty little objects of glass, ceramic and silver, they are really very pretty, even if they do make me visualise popping out an eyeball and sitting it on the top like an egg in a cup.

And while eye-baths are incredibly useful, especially for dealing with London pollution, I can't help but think they would be immensely more valuable if a decent eye-wash could help you unsee something. Invent one of those and watch your money worries fly away.

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It's hard to tell from my crappy photo, but the glass eyes in this satin-lined case are different colours. I can't help wondering if they all belonged to the same person, so he/she could match at least one eye to his/her daily outfit of choice. 
Or maybe the eye chosen was a warning sign to others: 
blue = you may approach, I'm feeling sunny 
green = be gentle with me, I 'm a bit sick today 
brown = stay the hell away, I'm as shitty as the shittiest thing on a shitty day.
Quite helpful really.

Sir Henry may have been a massively successful entrepreneur in the pharmaceutical field, but I reckon he missed perhaps his greatest money-making opportunity.
The object to the right is a 19th Century Sudanese amulet, a talisman, good-luck charm if you will. It carries spells to ward off the effects of the evil-eye. 
Do you see where I'm going with this? 

Surely every parent on the planet would buy one of these things when their beloved progeny hits the teenage years. They could be mass-produced in various forms to counteract the stink-eye, the hairy eyeball, the greasy eyeball, and my daughter's specialty, the death stare. 

Fabric versions (for long-term survival of both the parent and the amulet) could be tucked secretively inside an item of clothing. 
Transfers or henna versions would affix the symbol directly to your body. (I recommend the forehead as the most effective place because it would serve the double purpose of also embarrassing your teenager in public, as is every parent's duty.)
Paper versions might be packaged like tissues, for easy transport and day-to-day emergencies. 
The possibilities are e for endless.

During the month of April, I am participating in the Blogging from A–Z Challenge.

My posts will all feature images of and by the Wellcome Collection, Euston, London: the free destination for the incurably curious.