The direction of this post will look like my five year old wrote outline. Or if you read here enough times and as people might say who draft heart to heart poker advice on how to play queens in middle position at the Two Plus Two forums: Standard
The week started with a scampering for unemployment information via Google. The sweating out whether or not I would make the cubicle cut, and ultimately watching good co-workers box up while the rest of us discussed how lucky we got to be logging in the next day. A feeling I’ve never had to worry about work because how seemingly solid the corporation is went away, cutting the stitching to open up to show how foolish I had been to think that. There may be jokes about “cubical hell”, but considering the economy and having two young’uns at home to feed, I’ll put up with the Dilbert-isms for a steady increase to my checking account.
Yesterday, I suffered a sticker shock unseen since me and the future wife were sitting on a twin bed in a townhouse with bridal magazines covering more of the resting place then the second hand comforter did. The dress, the booze, the hall, the church, the booze, and of course the booze needed to accounted for. A softball team and friends were coming, don’t skimp on the drinks, and liquid courage was needed because we had to awkwardly slow dance to Lonestar belting out “Amazed” (yes honey if you’re reading, I do remember some tidbits about that night). The wedding was a success except for her champagne flute breaking, and taking some, but not full advantage of the mirror on the ceiling in the hotel room.
I’ll wait while you grab the eye and ear bleach.
The week started with a scampering for unemployment information via Google. The sweating out whether or not I would make the cubicle cut, and ultimately watching good co-workers box up while the rest of us discussed how lucky we got to be logging in the next day. A feeling I’ve never had to worry about work because how seemingly solid the corporation is went away, cutting the stitching to open up to show how foolish I had been to think that. There may be jokes about “cubical hell”, but considering the economy and having two young’uns at home to feed, I’ll put up with the Dilbert-isms for a steady increase to my checking account.
Yesterday, I suffered a sticker shock unseen since me and the future wife were sitting on a twin bed in a townhouse with bridal magazines covering more of the resting place then the second hand comforter did. The dress, the booze, the hall, the church, the booze, and of course the booze needed to accounted for. A softball team and friends were coming, don’t skimp on the drinks, and liquid courage was needed because we had to awkwardly slow dance to Lonestar belting out “Amazed” (yes honey if you’re reading, I do remember some tidbits about that night). The wedding was a success except for her champagne flute breaking, and taking some, but not full advantage of the mirror on the ceiling in the hotel room.
I’ll wait while you grab the eye and ear bleach.
My spouse joined me yesterday to make another major decision to incur a sizable debt for the sake of our union. No, I passed on the penile enlargement as the “Bobby Bracelet” package would have required some surgery for her feminine parts to “gaping mortar round wound” size. Instead we went to the Paparella Ear Head and Neck institute to discuss hearing aids with Dr. Paparella himself. He was cordial in a late-stage Ronny Reagan/Muhammad Ali way there but not all there. He carried a presence as a figure head and back up the talk with a huge amount of doctor-type accolades on his trophy shelf. A smile, some kind words, a joke about having to hear more of what my wife is saying, quickly sticking an otoscope in my ear and determining “hey there might be something wrong here” and in five minutes he was gone. We were then whisked away by the semi-attractive nose pierced assistant that seemed sad she couldn’t go full goth while usually hauling around half-deaf AARP members from room to room.
Sat down in office surrounded by speakers, inner ear charts, and several gadgets last found in Q’s laboratory.
The audiologist then checked with my insurance company after I had stated cost may be a deal breaker.
“No dice”. No coverage. Not even the limp-tastic 5% they offer for Lasik.
Then came the pricing sheets for the hearing aids that would help me. Since I’m considered “active” in a you-can-still-produce-an-erection-at-the-sight-of-a-semi-nude-Scarlett-Johansson-picture way, she said that the models I originally was ready to purchase would do no better then someone cupping their hands like a bullhorn or a SNL skit from the 70s where the guy just speaks a tad louder (anyone find it on YouTube?), and the ones I needed would cost a smidgen more.
When I did some interwebs research on the subject I was expecting $1,500-$2,000 for a pair.
$5,100.
After covering the Sunday Warm-up and Million and at PokerStars for the past half of a year, I would only have to weave through 4,300+ and 8,000+ true rounders and final table for the cash.
Easy, considering all the Sklansky bucks I’ve saved up for the past eighteen month!
Not an easy decision to plunge into debt during a time that stock certificates are becoming the new Mr. Whipple approved Charmin 2-ply 36 packs on sale at Target. But, no one said life, nor marriage was meant for sitting idly on ones’ hands without at least giving it the shot it deserves. I want to hear “Attack of the Show”, most of the time I want to hear my wife and kids, and the decision to take the doctor’s office’s “offer” of a zero-interest credit card with 12 months to pay is not a easy one.
But it is the right choice.
There have been many barriers in my life and poor hearing is one of them that can be knocked down. If money is the only thing standing in my way, then the decision has already been made.
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