It’s been two months since my last post, and while I’m sure a lot of the haters have written me off, I appreciate those who have been eagerly refreshing their browsers for the dullest news that defines my life. You’re champions, every last one of ya.
Not much has changed, except it’s now 2016 which means it’s a blank slate. It’s a time for all of us to make a fresh start, whatever that might mean. For me it means making a fresh start in 20 different areas of my life, but let’s be real, I’ll probably successfully accomplish half of one of these fresh starts. Whatever, it’s all about good intentions, and I have plenty of those.
There are some things that I want to keep the same for the rest of my life, such as my incredible friends and family, my impressive skee-ball game, and my commitment to pizza and wine. These things, for now, are safe in 2016.
Then there are things that refuse to change. One of these things is the size of my ears. Now before you jerks start calling me Dumbo, I have the exact opposite problem.
My ears are tiny.
You may think small ears would avoid notice, but ask my Mom. The first thing she said about me when I popped into the world was “look at her tiny ears!” Never mind that I was her first and only daughter, or that I was very healthy– I had tiny ears! This same factoid is shared with me on every birthday, or anytime I complain to my Mom of an earache.
In other words, I was doomed from the start. My ears have been stealing the show since 1992. Personally, I don’t think they’re sideshow small, but when people first take notice they’re ready to throw me in with the bearded ladies and sword swallowers (which actually sounds kinda fun, doesn’t it?).
Now, most people don’t notice, but when they notice, they notice and so does everyone else. I remember being at a cross country meet my freshman year of high school (my first mistake, am I right?), and while we were sitting around stretching, the team captain suddenly announced (after squinting at my face for an uncomfortable minute) that I had the world’s tiniest ears. Before I knew it, I had six girls getting really close to my ears, making me self-conscious about ear wax and whether not packing Q-tips was mistake. But there they were, poking my ears, squinting at them, admiring them with envy (???)… etc.
It’s one of those observations that I’m naive enough to think will never happen because I think my ears are #perfect, but then I’m caught off guard when someone tries to measure my ear next to theirs.
The other question I get is whether or not I have difficulty hearing. Because, apparently, the outward appearance of my ears determines everything going on inside (Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, RUDE!). So while people are using their fingers as a ruler against my ear, they’re also shouting in my ear. “Can you hear me?” they say loudly, directly into my ear, to which I respond, “Not anymore.”
Some people tell me to be grateful, because when I’m old and my ears stretch out, they’ll stretch to normal size and not be super huge. Great. I never thought I’d want to join the geriatric party, but I have a lot to look forward to now!
Anyway, the reason this ear-sized-crisis came about is because I entered into 2016 with all the confidence of a baby giraffe on ice skates, only to be told by an acquaintance that I couldn’t borrow her headphones because they wouldn’t fit in my small ears. (cue said baby giraffe spinning out on the cold Minnesota ice.)
Oh well. While the world is changing into a more violent and dangerous place, it’s semi-comforting to know that my small ears remain a constant.
Happy 2016, folks. May your year be great, and your ears remain a socially acceptable size. #DreamBig