Medallions of lizard in a pine reduction sauce over lice

The other night we were watching TV. I was checking email during a commercial break when I heard the announcer say, “Call 1-800-METH HEADS.”

“Did he just say '1-800-METH HEADS?'”  I asked my wife.

“That was 1-800-PET MEDS,” she replied, not even trying to conceal her disgust. “Get a hearing aid.”

She's told me to do that at least a thousand times. As much as it pains me to admit it, she’s right. I need one. Maybe two.

It’s genetic. My mother and brother wear hearing aids. Both grandmothers did, too. In my case the loss has been exacerbated by 45 years of listening through headphones to music cranked up to its highest possible volume. I’d have to guess a large percentage of my fellow Baby Boomers are in the same boat. It could be worse. I should probably be thankful I wasn’t a rock star who bounced around the stage at a trillion decibels. Can’t imagine what, if anything, Mick Jagger can hear. (I would have enjoyed the fame and fortune however.)

There’s nothing funny about losing one’s hearing but there are some funny moments when I repeat back what I think I just heard and find out I was wrong. Some of the more annoying aspects are being unable to understand servers in crowded restaurants (Tonight’s special is medallion of lizard in a pine reduction sauce served over lice); having to avoid soft-spoken people; missing phone calls – especially calls to your cell phone as you walk around a mall with your pants ringing and wonder why people are staring at you – and, when you finally connect, having to ask callers to repeat what they just said; and needing closed captions to understand what's happening on TV.

The pleasures of Inna Gadda DaVida at full blast weren’t worth it but it's too late.

I should swallow my pride and get a hearing aid but I want to wait until the industry comes out with one that’s invisible.

I hear one is going to be introduced soon.

But I probably heard wrong.