You have to learn how to take care of my things, Shelly.

Halloween post coming, but it was getting long (that's what she said) and I wanted to put this somewhere that is not Facebook where my mom will see it and offer some pitying, Jesus-based corrective that I did not ask for: 

I went to put on earrings on Friday night -- cute earrings, lightweight, but on the j-hook type of backing (as opposed to a post or a ring). I haven't worn earrings in ... hell, fff ...ive years? more? could my own wedding actually be the last time? surely not, the holes haven't grown over ... but I actually don't remember when it was. Now, back in high school and jr. high, wearing crazy earrings was My Thing. I had these great long fringy ones, some gigantic fake-jewel ones, root-vegetable ones, all kinds of shit. But I just straight-up haven't bothered in forever. And but so: Friday night, I was like, these Laura Palmer senior portrait earrings are hilaaaaarious, so I put them on -- and after about twelve seconds, I couldn't stand the swinging weight of them -- COULD. NOT. FUCKING. STAND IT. It felt like I had wire coat hangers stuck through my ear-holes, with coats ON the hangers, and I could already feel my too-hi-toned-milady, allergic-to-everything-but-24K-gold-or-sterling-silver earholes fiercely rejecting the lo-class metal of the hooks (I'd forgotten about that, dammit), and I had to take them out with a quickness and apply hydrogen peroxide, stat, to stop them getting seriously infected (again). Boooo.