Just One Ear - I swear!

I have this thing about pulling stray hairs from Sam’s ears. He hates it when I do this. He despises it. He abhors it. He detests it. I’m probably still not even close, but you get the picture. I can only chock it up to enduring marital bliss that he even consents to letting me examine his ears.

I think it usually happens in a weak moment. Will be snuggling together, all gushy and such, when out of the corner of my eye I’ll glimpse something wild and wiry growing from the edge of his ear. Sam has learned to recognize the look in my eye when I’ve spied a rebel hair and he instinctively recoils.

“Oh no you don’t,” he’ll protest. “You stay away from my ear. Just ignore it! I’m warning you!” He’s so cute when he does that. Adorable really. But I pay him no mind.

“Come here,” I order. “Let me have a look at that thing. Good God! It’s practically a tree growing there!”

“No way!” Sam will plead. “Leave it alone. It’s fine. I like it there!”

“Righhhht,” I humor him, “Now come here.”

Last week Sam tried a different tact. He let me look at one ear and even held relatively still while I yanked the wiry offender. But when I asked him to turn his head, he slammed his other ear against the chair and insisted, “I was born with only one ear! (pause for dramatic effect) Terrible birth defect! Tragic really. Just one ear. I swear!”

Honest to God he caught me so off guard with that one I nearly peed my pants. By the time I caught my breath, he’d squirmed out of reach.

I’ve learned there are certain places I just can’t get away with my plucking. Once I tried it in a theater and Sam gave me the dirtiest look I’ve ever received. I stopped cold, mid reach and haven’t tried since. Airplanes are another place where he seems to get a little cranky. It’s a shame because theaters and airplanes are two places where I can really get a good look at his ears with out ruining an otherwise potentially romantic moment. Unfortunately, this argument has had no effect on him.

Actually, I am composing this post on an airplane while Sam slumbers to my left. In the name of research (fact gathering if you will), I’ve given his right ear a good once over and have identified a prime candidate for plucking. It’s killing me, but since this is the first part of a weekend get away Sam planned for us, I am using my better judgment and restraining myself from committing a “pluck and run.”

There are other moments, however, where I’ve apparently worn him down enough that he figures it’s not worth the fight. “All right,” he’ll mutter. “Hurry up and get it over with.”

Invariably, it takes me two or three tries before I get a tight enough grip on the little rascal. (Tweezers, I believe, are for sissies.) Finally I get it and Sam stops holding his breath.

“Thank God that’s over,” he’ll sigh with relief.

It’s amazing the things we do for love.