I thought cardiac arrest had my number the other day. My four year old rushed up to me with his Transformer and shouted, “Mommy, Megatron can fly!” but what I heard was, “Mommy, let’s get drunk and high!” DEAR GOD! I was about to call that preschool and ask who he’d been cavorting with on the playground. (Was it YOUR kid? It was YOUR kid wasn’t it?!)
I did not sign up for this! I mean, I know at some point you need to address these issues with your kids, but for the love of all things holy, I hoped we’d at least make it through middle school first. Or elementary school. Or, you know, preschool?
I asked him three times to repeat himself. And three times I seriously thought he said “Let’s get drunk and high!” Panic set in. I ticked down the list of potential temporary hearing impairment causes….. Nope, I hadn’t been drinking. (It was a week day at like noon. Come on, give me some credit.) And yup, I’d had my daily coffee iv. Hungry? Um, no. (Come on, we all know I don’t miss a meal.) So if the whole hearing malfunction wasn’t alcohol induced or the result of caffeine or food withdrawal, then what was it? At four, the kid isn’t going to be winning any linguistics awards but I understand him 99% of the time so I couldn’t blame him either.
I shudder to say it—even think it. Could I possibly be losing some hearing? I am way too young for that! I joke I’m turning grey and begrudgingly confess I’m closer to 40 than 30, but that’s still way too young to be rocking the hearing aid with the silver foxes down at Bingo. (Although, I might as well confess. I really think I could get into Bingo…there’s yelling and gambling and probably some swearing. Throw in some beers and I’m ALL in!) Gert, you need an extra? Call me. I’m in the book.
And…maybe I’m not too young to be falling apart. Last year I succumbed to glasses. I’d been having a rough time driving at night and strained way too much to read street signs. I’d blamed the small New Englandy signs and dark roads for too long. I had to take action. But glasses? Turns out not so traumatic. Glasses are fun now. Funky! Stylish! Hip! An optical fashion genius (I’m not sure if that’s her exact title but it should be) helped me choose some fly (maybe I am old enough to be deaf if I’m still using fly as an adjective…) brown Burberry frames that were face flattering. (Read: didn’t make my round face look more dough girl…we went less dough girl…more glam girl. Glam girl, good. Dough girl, bad.) Gracias eyeball insurance!
I felt giddy when I picked them up. I’m not gonna lie, I preened in Lenscrafters and skipped out of there like a girl who just got smooched for the first time. I drove home, modeled them for my hubs, went all Good Will Hunting and screeched that I felt, “wicked smaht”! When I wear them I feel studious, professorial even. It’s a good look I wear with pride at the grocery store and the preschool pick up line. I can sense the cashiers and other moms are trying to hide how impressed they really are. (They pair nicely with the rest of my ensemble from Tarjay and my Lands End Suburban nerd shoes.)
But my hearing? Unless Burberry makes a sassy match to the glasses for my lobes, um, I don’t think so. Just….no. Nooo.
It’s good to know I’m not alone in the resistance. See, the stubborn streak runs in the family. For years my dad has been struggling with his hearing. He’ll put his hand to his ear, we’ll shout, he still won’t hear us, and then he’ll bark, “You don’t enunciate!” or “The acoustics in this room are terrible!” (Apparently, they’re terrible in every room. In every house. In every city. In every state.)
But he’s an older guy, he’s actually pretty stylish (I mean fly) and you can appreciate him not wanting to put some clunky, uncomfy plastic thing on his ear if he’s not really hearing impaired. (Plus? Then he’d have no excuse to yell and what fun would that be?) When we suggested a hearing aid and he growled they’re for “old farts”, well, who could argue? (Did I mention he’s over 80?) So I’ll continue to scream at my dad and admire how spiffy he looks (cuz I’ll have my fancy pants glasses on—how better to see him with) in his button downs, cords and loafers, his white hair just so. And I won’t bust his chops anymore to get that hearing aid, now that I’ve had my own brush with the terrible acoustics in my home. (I regret ever doubting you, dad!)
When all is said and done, you just can’t fight DNA and dad knows best on this one. We ain’t going down without a fight! You all better just start enunciating!
P.S. I meant to mention in the post that my memory is starting to fail as well (so many possible reasons why!). But then….I forgot.