© Cindy Beck, 2009
(Keywords: Cindy Beck, ear, earache, herbal, homeopathic, antibiotics, humorous writing, LDS humor, humor blog, funny, laugh)
Two weeks ago, I woke up feeling like someone had stuffed a golf ball in my ear. I thought about accusing my husband, Russ, who was the only other person in the room at the moment, but instead, I staggered out of bed ... only to find the floor rushing up to meet me and then spinning in circles around me.
"Seems like you might have an ear infection," Russ commented from his comfortable, non-spinning position on the bed.
A week later, when it felt like the golf ball had morphed into a bowling ball, I went to the doctor. She peered in one ear and then the other. "It looks a little red, but not too bad. Ear drops should take care of the problem."
As we walked out of the office, Russ glanced skeptically at the dark bottle of oil. "Wouldn't you be better off with antibiotics?"
"I'm trying the homicidal method."
For some strange reason, Russ looked like he was trying not to laugh. Which was good, because earaches are no laughing matter. He said, "I think you mean homeopathic—not homicidal."
When we got home, I looked at the healthy, herbal ingredients listed on the bottle. Calendula, St. John's wort ... and garlic.
Yup, garlic. Like the stuff you put in Italian food. Only I was supposed to put it in my ear. No harm in trying, right?
That night, Russ climbed into bed next to me and gave me a hug. Then he sniffed the air, like Uncle Vinnie tracking a plate of lasagna. "Something in this room smells like garlic bread. I wonder what it could be."
Garlic bread? Lucky for him, his sarcasm was lost on me because I had drops in my ear and couldn't hear. Otherwise, I would've responded with something exceptionally witty.
The next morning, my ear still hurt, and the room smelled like a garlic factory. Don't tell Russ, but right then I gave up on the herbal, homicidal route, and called the doctor for a healthy dose of antibiotics. After all, why walk around smelling like garlic toast when a little moldy bread will do?
What's playing in my head: That's Amore, by Dean Martin