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Wait. You're Going To Pierce My WHAT?!

Today I got my eardrum pierced. Yes, eardrum. Not ear lobe. Those were done at 16? 18? The moment it was legal, as my mother had made her feelings clear. "Of course you can pierce your ears. Just as soon as you pierce your nose and wear a ring through it." Which, now, no biggie. Back in the mid '70s, not so much.

It started a bad day. After the past few days making themselves clear that the oral Prednisone was likely not going to be the much-hoped-for deus ex machina, I woke to a horrific case of the Wibbledy-Wobbledies and a raging roar in Damned Left Ear. Driving was possible, but not fun. I went to lunch with a bestie, for a well-deserved treat and some hugs, and then off to work. My entire body has been feeling the lack of movement that the WW-s will give a person, so I forced myself to take the stairs. Carefully. Very, very carefully. Safety first! Caught up on a few things, met with my (fabulous) boss, planned for how we would continue through this morass, and headed off to the doctor's office.

Husbandly One, working a grueling job a hour or more away, made it his life's work to get done in time to accompany, and miracle of miracles, was on time! (The man was born for lateness, showed up late in our lives, and the only reason he was on time to our wedding was because it was next door to our house. But I digress. He was on time, and that turned out to be exceedingly merciful.)

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