Man, what a rough winter. Not the temperature, but the humiliation. For months my down coat has leaked feathers through the lining. Then, during each workday, bits of fluff waved to the world from my back and butt. My work subordinates…oh, wait…I have no subordinates…um, my co-workers clucked through staff meetings and hid corn in my desk.
We segué now to the annual buildup of earwax in whales. Who knew they had ears?? Upon a whale's death, we can count the wax layers to determine its age. Correction: you can count. Not in my job description, buckaroos. And personal hygiene notwithstanding, if authorities need to verify my age at death, tell them to check my driver's license.
Perhaps, I misheard normal greetings all winter from my co-workers. Wax buildup has indeed plagued me. No, not on my floors, but from years of waxing my legs, upper lip, and back. So, why not my ears?
A prison guard I know-who moonlights as an exotic pole dancer-suggested the ancient practice of "ear candling." The subject lies down on one side, and a long, waxed linen cone is inserted into the ear and burned at the end. Which end? Beats me. The resulting vacuum supposedly draws out wax and debris. OSHA recommends burning no closer than six inches from the ear, but I say we get our money's worth and burn it down to a quarter- inch. You first.
Opinions abound on candling. Physicians warn of eardrums burned by hot ash. What wussies. And scientists dispute the vacuum theory with flimsy arguments based on nothing more than the laws of physics. Academics can be so rigid.
On the other hand, a pink-haired salesclerk at Wicks 'n Tricks raved about candling. She said the crap sucked out will differ in color and texture according to the toxins present. She further explained that candling actually detoxes the brain. Holy cerebellar cerumen! I might really be Mensa material!!
So I gave it a whirl. I wanted to hear better-not just other people, but also the voices in my head. You know, the critical, second-guessing ones. Don't you just hate when they mumble!??
I could throw out all my self-help books if I knew what the hell they're really saying. And I never realized that our eustachian tubes connect directly to our brains. So that's how songs get stuck in our heads!? Golly, science rocks.
Warning: Do not attempt ear candling on your own. But, before entrusting your safety to a spouse or partner, ask yourself: How horrid was our last fight? And am I really forgiven?? If in doubt, or if your partner seems a little too eager to help, better ask a friend. Preferably, someone without tremors, poor eyesight, or attention deficit disorder. To demonstrate trust, I chose an old drinking buddy currently on parole for arson.
Not keen on hot ashes in the ear, I sat upright, and we stuck the cones horizontally through the ear holes of a football helmet. I suggest a kicker's helmet. We candled during lunch, and I found wolfing pizza through the full face guard of a lineman to be tricky. Remember to disable the smoke alarm and cage the parakeet before the procedure. And keep a pail of water handy. My fire extinguisher made a helluva mess.
So, what came out? The usual stuff: mosquitoes from my third-grade picnic, macaroni from a recent food fight at the Seniors Center, and some blue crystals. No, not toxins-they're sparkles from a hairnet I wore while Nixon was president.
Next time I'll make my own candles out of spray starch and knee socks. Money is tight now because of a hefty co-pay on my skin grafts.
But, halleluiah, children! The critical voices now ring with clarity!! Still, I worry the li'l bitches may have suffered smoke inhalation. They cough a lot, and feathers fly out of my ears.
Copyright © 2009 Mary Tompsett
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