“So,” my young and undeniably attractive doctor says to me with a smile, “They tell me you can't hear in stereo. Let's see if we can't fix you up.” He inspects my ears and mutters a muted tsk, tsk. “My, my, my,” he says cheerily, “Now that's impressive.”
“Wax?” I ask hopefully.
“Did you ever see that episode of 'The Twilight Zone' with Lawrence Harvey and the earwig?” he asks and for a nanosecond, my heart nearly stops, then he gives me a wink.
“Scared the living daylights out of me, let me tell you.”
“Me too,” I admit, “It was terrorizing. But you're not old enough to remember that!”
“Sling TV,” he shrugs and gives me a grin. “Give us a few minutes and we'll have you right as rain.”
The nurse filled by ears with some kind of wax softener and some 20 minutes later, used a pressurized spray bottle to blast through the now malleable wax. It wasn't a pleasant experience but there was no pain and after a couple of sprays, I was cured.
“It's a miracle!” I proclaimed.
The doctor came back with a pleased expression in his eyes, examined both my ears and pronounced me unimpaired and earwig free. Unlike Lawrence Harvey, I emerge structurally sound and live to fight another day.
