Stick It In Your Ear
I was at the dermatologist for the first time recently, sitting there in a paper gown and the doctor turned out to be this suave guy who almost stormed into the room and stuck out his hand for me to shake it while a nurse followed closely behind him. He’s one of those guys who you can’t follow closely enough because he darts everywhere and he expects you to be right behind him. He’s probably one of those guys that you walk with in New York who suddenly crosses a street without warning and then you hesitate because a car is coming and by the time you cross you have to run after him for a long time and he pretends like nothing happened.
Anyway, after a quick body exam where he expressed boredom at my removal-not-covered-by-insurance skin tags and lectured me about wearing hats more, he quickly decided to remove a spot on my thigh and one on the tip of my right ear. He ran out of the room suddenly. The nurse hit those spots with an alcohol wipe and then did a shot in each spot.
“Prick,” She said. “And now burn.”
It did indeed burn, like a wasp that decided to sting you for about 4 seconds straight. The doctor swept back in and removed the ear thing. He mumbled about how if it was a cartilage problem, it could be tough to deal with. I was imagining extensive earlobe physical therapy with a tough but kind physical ear therapist yelling “C’mon! I know you got one more in you!” While I strained to bend my ear or something. While the doctor was cauterizing my new ear wound the nurse suddenly looked at my face and said: “Oh, do you feel that?”
And I said, “No, I was just thinking of my best friend — he can fold his ear up and stick it into his ear hole, kind of.” The doctor and nurse both paused. I glanced at the nurse — she looked troubled.
“It’s a nervous tic,” I said quickly. “He’s done it since he was a kid. He just does it all the time if he’s nervous. He just folds his ear up the same way, in three quick folds, and sticks it into place. It stays there.”
“Well,” Said the doctor slowly. “First I heard of that. Heck of a party trick.”
“But that’s not even the trick,” I said. “At a random time, it pops out on its own and becomes an ear again!”
That made everyone happy, and we all laughed. But the real question is, how can Scott have a rubber ear with apparently totally fine cartilage, and I have a tiny ear tip removal done and am in danger of like, having a handicapped ear tip for the rest of my life?!