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“Food fight!” I yelled.

“No.”

You may be wondering, “who said ‘no’?”

That’d be everyone I ever yell food fight around. There are sooo many buzzkills in this world. Just once, I want to yell those two liberating words and have someone throw a pie in my face, preferably chocolate cream.

I’m to the point when I need to be in a movie, cuz they’re the only people who get to have any food-fighting fun.

When Thomas and I were in our newlywed period, I decided shenanigans were in order. “Food fight!” I yelled, flicking a spoonful of margarine across the room.

It landed smack inside his ear. Like you couldn’t even see his ear hole. To say he wasn’t happy is an understatement. He flipped out. Flat out lost it.

But I gotta tell ya, I was pretty impressed with myself. Seriously, I was at least 15 feet from Thomas.

“This is not good,” he said. “I’m starting to feel claustrophobic.”

To be fair to Thomas, I’d never had a glob of margarine stuck in my ear, so I had to take his word for it when he said he felt claustrophobic, which makes no sense to me. It’s not like he was in a small space. Honestly, he was running around all willy-nilly; he had a whole roomful of space.

“Dude, chill,” I said. “You’re fine. It’s not like a spider laid a batch of babies in your ear.”

“I’m not going to chill,” he said, putting his head on my lap. “You need to help me get it out.”

“OK,” I peeked in his ear. “Huh, this is interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, running a list of possible ways to remove the margarine through my brain. “There are several options. I think we should try-.”

“I don’t care, just get it out,” he gasped. “The claustrophobia is causing a panic attack.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s actually a thing.”

“Since I’m the one feeling it, I can guarantee it is a thing.”

“You know, you’re not supposed to put anything smaller than your elbow in your ear,” I said.

“I didn’t,” he growled. “You did.”

“If you’re going to get all testy, I’m not going to help.”

I ended up saving the day by using a round-end toothpick to scrape out the majority of the margarine, followed by a flush using a bulb syringe and warm soapy water. You know, cuz Dawn takes grease out of your way.

I expected a bit more gratitude for solving the problem, but apparently, being the person who caused the problem doesn’t deserve gratitude.

As karma would have it, life is all fun and games until something ends up lodged in your ear.

Right before a foreign body (science word for “thing”) was jammed into my ear, I heard, “Wet Willy!”

Let me ask you, what’s your first reaction to receiving a wet willy?

Most often, you try to protect your ear, usually with some gusto.

Which is how I ended up smashing something slimy into my ear instead of grabbing our daughter Audrey’s hand.

“What did you put in my ear?” I yelled.

“I gave you an asparagus wet willy,” she smiled proudly.

“That’s disgusting,” I grabbed the small stalk sticking out my ear and pulled, tearing it off.

So, you know how asparagus can be stringy? I brushed a finger against my ear hole and felt little bits of feathery string, kinda like the hair that grows out of my grandpa’s ear.

“Thomas,” I panicked, running around the room. “Get it out!”

“Reminds me of the time I ended up with an earful of margarine,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” I said, “help me.”

“I’ll help,” Audrey said.

“You’ve done plenty.”

“Mom, chill.”

“Don’t tell me to chill.”

“Funny,” Thomas laughed. “I remember you saying the same thing to me.”

“Get it out!”

Not gonna lie, I felt a bit claustrophobic. However, I wasn’t admitting it to Thomas.

I pushed Thomas’ plate out of the way and laid my head on the table in front of him.

“I’m trying to eat,” he said taking a bite of meatloaf.

“Dude! Please!”

He pulled my earlobe down. “Whoa.”

“Whoa, what?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can get it.”

“What!”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s really jammed in there.”

“OK,” I sniffed, “call the fireman.”

“I’m not calling the fireman for a piece of asparagus in your ear.” He kissed my forehead. “However, I will call you an Uber.”

“Why would I want an Uber?”

“It’s the Sweet 16, and I don’t want to miss any games.”

“You’re an awful human being.”

“It’s called priorities.”

Sooo, I tipped the Uber driver to sit with me during my procedure. And then I tipped him an extra $100 for puking on his shoes.

Y’all, when they used the thingy (another science word) to suction out the asparagus, seeing the green slime run through the tube was the end of me.

Krista Vance is a former Champaign resident. While she now calls northern Colorado home, she spent five wonderful years here and misses great friends, corn and big-sky sunsets.

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