Earring Aids

I have female problems.

I’m not talking about hormones, or estrogen, or progestrogen, or indigestion, or indigestrogen, or hydrogen or periods and womanly bodily functions and crap. That is not what this is about.

There are simple things that normal females can do that I have somehow never learned. Apparently those motor skills never developed during puberty.

My main problem are earrings. They have been a thorn in my . . . ear?

I pierced my ears on a whim when I was 18, an official adult according to the United States of America. That may have been long overdue seeing as some girls have pierced ears from infancy.

 

Well, it hurt. It hurt like a mother . . . flipping a child across the living room into the fireplace. I am a wimp when it comes to all things with needles. In this case, it was a gun. You would be faint if you had a piercing gun held to your lobe too, I’m sure (I’m not so sure).

Everyone who’s anyone knows that after you pierce your ears you have to keep them in for something like a month or so. You clean them and you turn them and you make sure the hole doesn’t close up in the meantime.

When I was finally able to take my earrings out, I was so excited. Here’s where the problem occurred: how in the name of heaven and earth was I supposed to put them back in?

Seems easy, I know. Take the earring, jab it back in the hole. No big deal. Done.

What you may not realize is that there are not one, but two holes! Mind. Blown.

One hole where the earring enters the front of your lobe and one where it exits out the back.

This is more than I bargained for.

That first time putting my earrings in took over an hour–I’m under exaggerating here.

I would go into the bathroom to watch my technique in the mirror. Earring would go in the front hole without a problem, but I’d have to fish around to find that exit hole. Finding the back made me queasy. So queasy my vision would start blurring and black spots would appear.

This is when I decided it’d probably be smart to take a break and lie down in bed.

So I did. Until the dizzy spell passed. Then I’d get right back up, go into the bathroom and try again. And again. And again until I’d start blacking out.

It’s a sad sight to picture an 18 year-old girl blacking out from putting her earring in. So sad.

I don’t regularly wear earrings because of how much work they are. So, when I do it’s due to the realization that I do not want the holes to close.

This happened recently.

So, I put my little studs in and wore my swollen ears with relief. The holes had not closed! Hurray! Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

It was painful, though. I swear I ripped through flesh on that back end, but whatever, I got them in and in they were staying!

However, when nighttime came upon the little street on which I reside, I wanted to take them out so I could give my ears a break. Big. Mistake.

Earrings are so strong–you don’t even know the half of it. If I were Samson with all my hair, I would not have been able to pry the backing from the stud.

If I am a T-rex chasing after my next dinosaur meal, earrings are the meteors that wiped me out of existence.

If I am freshly fallen snow, earrings are the dogs that piss me to yellow.

If I am the last piece of double fudge chocolate cake, earrings are the fat kid who’s just been told he can’t have dessert.

I never even stood a chance.

But I wasn’t going to be defeated by tiny diamond earrings–sparkling at me like they’re so cute and pretty. I see through your shiny exterior, you hard mother trucker.

The battle between my earrings and I went on through the night. There was a lot of huffing. A lot of puffing. A lot of blowing the house down. There were also a lot of tears and sighs and sweat and blood.

But let me tell you, after spending near 30 minutes on each earring, I showed those devils who’s boss. And that’s me. I’m the boss. I rocked those earrings and then I put them in again the next morning.

It’s a vicious cycle. It really is–but it’s all a part of life, am I right? (I am most likely wrong).

Perhaps they should send someone home with you who’s skilled in the art of putting earrings in and taking earrings out, you know, like as a complementary gift when you get your ears pierced. Like how you purchase antiseptic, maybe a free assistant, butler, aide, indentured servant (. . . no?) person could be added onto the bill. Just a thought.

Cheers!
L