Tuesday 19 September 2006

The angel of shredded wheat.

In the interest of not being difficult all the time and wanting to make life easier for my heartbreakingly beautiful husband and my children that I have come to appreciate more than you'd ever know, because I hardly ever see them anymore, I found a way to pay Jacob back for his romantic evening and honor 45 whole days married.

Oh yes I did.

I have an appointment today. To give the hearing aids a real chance. I made it weeks ago. I can keep secrets too, Reverend Firefighter man.

Some might say that this is for me. But it isn't. This is something Jacob has wanted me to do since the night he found out I couldn't hear him very well. It's something he brings up regularly and it's become a sticking point from which most arguments originate. I am so stubborn.

One of the reasons I changed my mind was because I was one hundred percent convinced that last month my daughter told me she wanted to be the Angel of Shredded Wheat for Halloween. It was the funniest thing ever. We laughed for almost an hour.

She, in fact, wanted to be an angel with shredded wings, because they had a huge pair at the costume store and she fell in love with them. (You'd have to see them to believe it, they're so cool looking.)

What else did I miss in my bullheadedness?

This is not small potatoes. These hearing aids cost thousands and I need two. They cost so much because they are supposed to help me differentiate between what I need to hear and the inconsequential but usually overwhelming background noise. Digital even. High-fucking-tech. I was warned I will be just as exhausted while I get used to them as I was without them, attempting to later dissect the words, tossed out in the cacophony of my environment like so much fluff blown from a dandelion. Chaos. Total chaos.

We all know how I love to sit and rearrange the words in my brain. To the point where I fail to pay attention to much else at all sometimes. Missing wings and shredded wheat.

My plan is to fib and tell him I'm helping in the afternoon today at the school. I made a reservation at a great restaurant for tonight and have sworn the kids to secrecy. I'm going to wear my new hearing aids to the restaurant and see how long it takes for him to notice. They're subtle but I might not be. I have a new red dress that would knock you flat. Just to throw him off.

But so help me, if he even once speaks to me without touching my chin, or holding my face in two hands, or fails to kiss his nose to my nose and look into my eyes when he's talking like he does now so I don't miss things, I swear I'll rip them out and drop them right in the dishwater.

Wish me luck!