My Ears Are Ringing

Eva thinks I should get an earring.

She's mentioned this casually several times over the years, and every time she does, I recoil with a mix of horror and utter bewilderment.

Tattoos are one thing. I used to be dead-set against them too, before Eva opened my mind on them. Tats, I thought, were restricted to two classes of people: criminals, and dumb-as-a-stump teens. Meeting Eva and discovering the meaning behind her tattoos, and actually getting to suggest and help design the ones she's had inked since, I've realized that tattoos have a very personal, very pertinent message, sometimes aimed at the world and sometimes aimed at the self. Every single one of Eva's tattoos--she has more than ten, at this point--is important.

When my mom and stepdad both got inked, I decided I would too.

But what? I struggled to find something meaningful enough. The more I thought about it, the more nothing seemed to suffice.  I toyed with some combination of a book, a Canadian flag, and a paw print (symbolizing our shared love of animals)--it just didn't gel.

Then Eva suggested a blue spruce. Perfect. Something like this

would be just right. Backstory buried in here. TL;DR: I had a phobia of blue spruce from the age of three until about fifteen (and if that doesn't get you reading, I give up). I now consider blue spruces to be the most beautiful trees in existence. The blue spruce represents fears met and conquered...something that continues to define my life.
I've actually since found another tattoo idea that speaks just as strongly to me: more on that when it happens. I expect I'll stop at two, one on each shoulder...but you never know. That spruce is going on sometime between now and September, and I'm excited about it.

But an earring, now...

My first real exposure to the thought came from George Carlin:



This is from the '84 album, Playin' With Your Head, and I still have it memorized. There's an awful lot of dwelling on the pain of drilling holes through your flesh, and that really stuck with me. I mean, I get that five year olds get their ears pierced...still, something about drilling a hole RIGHT! THROUGH! MY! EAR! gives me the screaming meemies.

And for what? What meaning do earrings have? You can't very well be having a beer when you look in a mirror and you notice your ear and it's suddenly clear what your life's purpose is.

('No', says Eva, 'they're just sexy'.)

Say what?

The only time I even notice earrings is when they're those giant hoops that clank off your shoulder, look ugly as hell, and make me think how if I had one of those I'd forever be getting it caught on things. Now, granted, I seem to be very good at not noticing things. I can miss giant things standing right in front of me. So I'll stipulate that other people obviously notice. them. (Why? What on earth is so fascinating about somebody's ear? Oh, hell, I never notice shoes for the same reason and study after study proves that they're the first things actual humans notice on other humans. I get it, I'm strange, okay?)

I admit a giant blind spot here, so I'm going to turn it over to my readership. Two questions, One, what's sexy about an earring on a guy? And two, should I be a guy with an earring?