Ears

My youngest sister became the ripe old age of twelve this past week, thus she was allowed to get her ears pierced.

I held out until I was fifteen.

Sometimes I regret having pierced my ears. I used to love to play with my ear lobe (weird, I know), but now there's stiff scar tissue in the middle of it. In high school, I got to the point where I would only put earrings in for dances. A few hours before my date picked me up, I would find an earring with a straight post, pull down my ear, and jab it in until I heard the grown-in flesh tear. Nasty, I know, but effective. Girls are tough. (So was that guy in my health class who showed us how he pierced his ear using a staple.) Now I just wear the same earrings forever until one gets lost or I remember to find some other ones.

Three stories come to mind:

1. I had heard about this girl in high school who liked to play with other people's hair and ears while she talked to them. I thought that was insanely strange until she played with my ear one day in gym. Logically, it seems odd, but it didn't seem out of place that day.

2. My mom got a second pierce on one ear the day I got my first two. Within a few weeks, President Hinckley had encouraged only one modest pair. True to her faith, my mom took out the earring and suffered from a keyloid for some years before having it repaired.

3. I jump when someone touches my ear--almost as much as my friend Ronda does when someone touches her neck.