The irrigation was a loud, splashy, undignified affair. A jet of warm water shot into his ear, and a moment later, a small, horrifying blob the color of over-steeped tea slid out onto the gauze. Followed by a second. And a third.
He stood up too fast. The olive oil, which had not dissolved the wax but had simply turned it into a greasy, immovable sludge, shifted in his ear canal. His balance fled. He staggered sideways, crashed into the bookshelf, and sent a collection of porcelain thimbles (a gift from his late aunt) cascading to the floor. how to clean ears with olive oil
After a ritualistic three minutes, he retrieved the thimble. He tilted his head toward the ceiling, pointed his ear skyward, and poured. The irrigation was a loud, splashy, undignified affair
But Arthur was already marching to the kitchen, a man on a greasy mission. He located the bottle: Extra Virgin, cold-pressed, imported from Tuscany. He poured a small amount into a thimble—because he didn’t own an eyedropper—and placed the thimble in a mug of warm water. And a third
The sensation was not gentle. It was like a tiny, warm snail had crawled into his brain and died. He felt a deep, sloshing glub deep inside his skull. For a moment, silence. Then, a sound like a thousand tiny bubble wraps popping directly against his eardrum.
It began, as many terrible ideas do, on a Tuesday. Arthur Pendleton, a man whose hobbies included competitive napping and arguing with his toaster, had woken up with a peculiar sensation in his left ear. The world sounded like he was listening through a pillow. His wife, Margaret, had suggested a doctor. Arthur, however, had discovered the internet.
Nothing. A vast, perfect, terrifying silence.