Well, it's official. I am going to have to get some professional help. I am addicted to Q-tips.
I know, I know. You're not supposed to stick them in your ears and root around like you might dislodge the Hope diamond. It's bad for you. It messes up the wax equilibrium. You could puncture key parts of the inner ear. But how can it be wrong when it FEELS SO RIGHT? And? Right when you get out of the shower? Or the pool? Shouldn't you try to get the water out of your ears? So it doesn't fester? And so pussywillows don't grow in your ears like I read in a book once? And aren't Q-tips perfect for that?
So clearly, occasional Q-tip use is perfectly reasonable. But I realized I had a problem this morning, when I got out of the shower in our hotel, reached for a 'tip and came up empty. I felt a little burst of panic explode inside my chest. Katr usually has a little travel pouch full of those cotton wands of joy. I pawed through her toiletry bag. Nothing. I ripped her toiletry bag apart, spreading its contents about the bathroom like I was looking for my heroin suppositories. Still nothing. I turned to my own toiletry bag, willing it to magically produce the missing 'tips. I tore my bag apart. I then proceeded to empty out my knapsack, then Katr's knapsack, then my purse,then my knitting bag, and finally the the mini-bar. Nothing.
"Fuck," I thought, still in a panic, yet surprised at the vehement application of the F-bomb to what should not be that big a deal, "Fuckity fuck. Goddamn."
I began to think crazy thoughts. I could call the front desk! Surely they'll have Q-tips! Or if not, they could send someone out to get some! But then they'd come up and deliver them and I'd have to put on pants! Foiled! I could go get them myself! There's a pharmacy not far from there, I saw it yesterday, SWEET LAVENDAR LORD, why didn't I GET SOME YESTERDAY, I was RIGHT THERE!! I could go now, I could, but then I'd DEFINITELY have to put pants on and it's not pants time yet!! Fuckity fuck! Goddamn!
I was attaching a cotton pad to the tip of a 4mm knitting needle with a rubber band when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My towel turban was in disarray. My face was red and I was breathing heavily. I had the crazy eyes. And that's when I knew - I have to stop hittin' the 'tips.
There was a time when Q-Tips were a matter of indifference to me. I used them to clean my nose ring when I first got it, but that was about it. Looking back, however, it was only a matter of time. My dad is addicted to Q-tips - I remember seeing the look of joy and satisfaction on his face while he slid those cotton-tipped beauties so far into his ear that they affected his speech patterns and motor skills. These things are genetic. I am powerless over my disease.
So I'm cuttin' out the 'tips. Going cold turkey. No more early morning scrub-outs. No more late-night inner ear frottage. And when I get back from the emergency room, where I hope they can remove this knitting needle, no more cotton-tipped LIES.
**Update** Darn it. Now Melissa's response to this post has me thinking twice about quitting - I'm clearly in such good company here . . .
