Chirky

Saturday our washing machine started making an odd "whirr whirr whirr" sound,
like the motor was working but the agitator wasn't.

After disassembling it, consulting a washer repairman, and buying several repair
parts, Roger discovered that the cost to repair it would be expensive, and it
would be a better investment to just buy a new one. The last store we visited,
and consequently the store where we bought our washer, was Best Buy.

While we were hem-hawing over different features of washing machines, Roger
whispers to me, "By the way, don't look in the sales guy's ears. You'll want to
gag."

Roger knows me well. Very well. Well enough to know that I start gagging at the
drop of a hat. His story about peeing in a tin, freezing it, and sliding it
under someone's bedroom door? It made me gag. The thirty seconds of liposuction
that I glimpsed on MTV? It SO made me gag.

Naturally, since Roger told me not to do something, I wanted to do it. I was
curious about the inside of his ears. And even though I didn't want to gag, I
did want to get a glimpse of them, if only because my flesh desired such
grotesque images. I glanced toward the salesman, whose face was turned toward
mine. Shifting my gaze to his left ear, I felt my throat start to close up and
my stomach turn upside down. I WAS NOT EVEN FACING HIS EAR. I WAS FACING HIS
FACE. AND I COULD SEE HIS EAR WAX. THERE. WAS. THAT. MUCH.

I immediately hurried over to Roger, grabbed him by the arm, and urgently
whispered, "Roger. I. Saw. His. Ear."

And Roger laughed. At me! Meanwhile, my eyes were beginning to water, my stomach
was violently churning with butterfly-sized aches, and my closed-up throat was
doing its best to induce vomit.

In fact, the memory of it has given me a stomachache, and I am now burping up
acidic portions of the leftover lasagna that I had for lunch today. (As good
today as it was Saturday night, Eddie! Except for the burps. Those are gross.)

Was that too much information?