father knows best

another story about shock.

I’m here at work dressed as a vampire, because we were all supposed to dress up, but it seems I am one of five people here in a costume.

I figured out why I don’t get so excited about Halloween… I do it every day. I dress in costumes, I pretend to be someone else, I talk with funny voices… today just makes me have to do it and still be me every day. That’s not as fun.

Two of my friends (and members of the troupe) made it to the stand-up finals last night. I’m terribly proud of them. 120 people auditioned, and they were in the top sixteen.

I’m just going to mention here again, in case anyone was confused about yesterday: Eric and I are not getting married, he was just making a joke. You can still send me flowers and gifts though, if you want, just ‘cuz you love me.

I decided it’s time to tell another story about my dad, since they are so loved around here:

When I was sixteen my ear clogged up. This has happened often in my life… I have really bad ears. Every once in a while a doctor will clean them out with that water hose that they ram into your head and for about two days I can hear like I’m in the subway. Everything is really loud and the sound of my voice is really clear. But usually, I have this clogging constantly in my ears. Well this one time I was complaining to my dad about how I couldn’t hear so well out of my left ear and he said, “Just go clean it out with some of the stuff I have on my dresser.”

My dad has bad ears as well, but that’s because he had a firecracker go off next to his head when he was a kid. I think he has the same clogging problem as I do, though, but no matter.

Anyway, I know that he usually cleans out his ears with this squeegy thing that is like a small pump thing and you squirt water into your ears and then drain. Well, this time he says, “Use the drops I have on the dresser.”

Dad is always ready to give you some of his prescription medicine for anything that sounds remotely similar to the problems he’s having. I, on the other hand, feel that drugs should stay with the person they were intended for.

So I ask, “What is in this bottle?”

“Just use it,” was his reply.

I’m standing there with my boyfriend at the time and I’m looking at this bottle, and it doesn’t say on it what it is. It’s a small bottle with a little dropper for a cap and it looks like something you put in the cat’s ears when it gets an infection.

“So, what is it?” I ask again.

“Pamela, just take the bottle and drop a bit in your ear. It breaks up the wax, that’s what it’s for.”

“Right, but how does it break up the wax? What’s in it?”

“Pamela, just use the damn bottle.”

“Dad, why can’t you just tell me what’s in the bottle?”

“It’s… stool softener.”

Stool softener.

I freaked out. “What? I’m not putting this in my ear!”

“Pamela, the doctor said it was fine.”

“Dad, I think this is for another hole! I’m not putting this in my head!” Now, I’m twice as embarrassed because I’m standing there with my boyfriend, who I’m trying to impress despite the fact that I’m half-deaf and we now know that my father uses stool softener as a daily toiletry ritual.

“Pamela, it’s not gonna kill you. Just use it.”


And I didn’t have to use the stool softener, because I pitched such a fit. Even if it had worked, I mean, come on! Can you imagine what would have happened if that story had leaked at school? I would have been known as “shit for brains.”

Ah, youth. What would we do without our parents? We’d miss out on so many stories.

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