Many of us don’t want to admit we are losing our hearing. However, not accepting this fact can be quite embarrassing, at times.

When we do accept the inevitable, our search begins for the best possible hearing aids. Just what these are may be found in . . .

Huh?

     I sat at my desk in my den, just staring off into space. My mind drifted back to my walk this morning. It was the middle of August and I had to wear a sweater. The weather report said it wouldn’t get higher than seventy today. Must be global cooling, I thought. Just then Myra stuck her head into my office.

     “Gary, what’s all that noise coming from the street?”

     “Huh? What noise?”

     “Well, turn up your hearing aids.”

     “Stop picking on me Myra. You know damn well I don’t have hearing aids. And besides, I don’t need them.”

     “Then why can’t you tell me what the noise is?”

     “Because I’m working on a project on my iMac and I’m deep in concentration. So I just block out all the awful sounds around me.”

     “Then why didn’t you answer me when I first called to you from the kitchen? Am I one of those dreadful sounds you manage not to hear?”

     “Did you say something to me, Myra?”

     “Just keep doing that and you're going to live to regret it. By the way, you do know we need to be at Robin and Don’s house at seven, and it's almost six now?”

     “I know. Just a couple of minutes more and I’ll get ready.”

     She’s always on my back about hearing aids. I hate wearing anything that hangs on my ears, or around my neck, or on my arms. My watch bothers the crap out of me. And I wouldn’t wear my wedding ring if I thought Myra would let me. But she’d murder me, if I took it off.

     ”I’m ready when you are,” Myra stated, emphasizing you.

     “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

     I went into the bedroom, dressed, and looked at myself in the mirror. “Blue shirt goes with tan pants. Brown shoes work. Hair’s combed,” I muttered. Guess I’m ready to blow the sox off my neighbors.

     I strutted out to the living room where Myra sat on the couch reading one of those weird Stephen King novels. She heard me come in and looked up.

     “You ready?” she asked.

     “Don’t I look ready?”

     “Yeah, guess you look pretty good.”

     “Well, thanks for the rousing compliment.”

     We locked up the house and walked four houses down the block to Robin and Don’s. Myra rang the bell and Don opened the door.

     “Welcome, welcome to our humble abode,” he chanted, as he ushered us in. He took our jackets and we went into the living room. I collapsed onto the plush brown leather couch and Myra parked herself on the loveseat under the window.

     “What can I get you to drink?” Don asked.

     “Nothing for me right now,” I replied.

     “I’ll have a glass of your finest wine,” Myra gushed.

     “Coming right up,” Don declared.

     Myra and I sat in our seats, our eyes perusing the room, as we awaited Don’s return. It seemed like hours. Then Don ambled back in toting a glass of sparkling wine for Myra and a beer for himself. Robin followed carrying some chips and dip, which she placed on the coffee table.

     “Good evening, guys,” she said in a melodic tone. Then she mumbled something else.

     Myra glared at me. “Robin asked you a question, Gary. Aren’t you going to answer her?”

     “Huh? What question? Guess I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry, Robin.”

     “Oh, that’s all right. I just asked how you’ve been.”

     “Fine. Just fine, thank you.”

     “Better not ask him anything else, Robin. Cause he won’t hear you. I’ve been trying to get him to look into getting hearing aids. He insists he doesn’t need them. He says he doesn’t like the way they feel.”

     “God, Gary, why are you so stubborn? I’m wearing hearing aids and I bet you can’t see them. And after wearing them for awhile, you don’t even know they’re there.”

     “But I don’t like anything hanging on my body. And, besides, they’re not reliable. Most of the people I play poker with on Tuesday night wear them and still don’t hear half the things said. Also, they complain about the loudness of the background noise. So tell me, why should I set myself up for ‘hearing aid trauma?’”

     “What was that again? I missed the last part of what you said,” Robin muttered.

     “Oh, for heaven's sake. That proves my point. Those things don’t work.”

     Don chimed in, “Don’t be so headstrong, Gary. I’m wearing these new lightweight, almost invisible hearing devices. Don’t even know I have them on.”

     “And you don’t have them on half the time,” Robin proclaimed, laughing. “So who are you to be giving advice?”

     “Hey, I’m on your side. I’m trying to show Gary why he should get a pair.”

     What an amazing and annoying evening. The sign posted above the fireplace seemed to read, “This is your chance to convince Gary to get hearing aids, even if he doesn’t want them. So do it now.” Each of the three gave reason after reason why I’d be a different person if I got them. They went on and on about how I would enjoy life more. Now the one who irked me the most was Myra, for she didn’t need them. When all appeared to be going in the wrong direction, Don became frustrated.

     He yelled, “Aw, leave the guy alone. This was supposed to be a get-together with friends, not a pitch for hearing aids. And besides, I have the solution to Gary’s problem.”

     “Huh? What did you say?” I shouted.

     “I have a solution to . . .”

     “Oh, stop already, I heard you. Let’s drop the subject. What do you think about the presidential race? And who are you supporting?”

     These questions didn’t go over too well. The room became silent.

     “Okay, what would you guys like to do?” Don queried.

     “Did you hear about Walter’s wife, Paula?” Robin asked. 

     “No. What happened?” Myra inquired, her interest aroused.

     “She heard their dog crying in the backyard. It was about midnight. She went outside to check and the door closed behind her. They had installed an automatic locking device on it. She knocked on the den window, where Walter was sitting at his desk, and yelled for almost forty minutes.”

     “Didn’t he hear her?” I questioned.

     “Maybe, but only when he got up from his desk to go to the bathroom. Then he saw her at the window,” Robin muttered.

     “That’s terrible. Walter must feel awful,” Myra moaned.

     “He sure does. Paula won’t let him forget it. She’s been after him for years to get hearing aids,” Robin stated.

     “So, now he’s going to get them to get her off his back. Right?” Don asked.

     “Don’t know. I would, if I did what he did,” Robin said, with conviction.

     “We just can’t get off the subject of hearing aids, can we?” I protested.

     But then, believe it or not, we did move on. We chatted about all kinds of things for the next hour, nibbled on some finger food Robin set out, and afterwards, bid Robin and Don good night.

     The next day Myra and I drove to Middleton, twenty-five miles from home, to do some shopping. After about two hours of walking in and out of stores, Myra spent close to $200 and I was exhausted. The excursion took its toll on me, for I had just turned seventy-three a month ago. 

     We went into Moe’s Diner and collapsed into a comfortable booth and got something cold to drink. As we relaxed at our table and drank iced tea, I glanced across the room. . . . “Myra, look who’s in that booth over there. And look what he’s with.”

     “What he’s with? She queried.”

     “Yeah.”

     Myra swung around to see and almost choked. “Oh my, it’s Walter. And she, . . . she’s at least thirty years younger than he is.”

     “I’ve got to give him credit. He does have good taste in women,” I quipped.

     “Cut it out, Gary. This isn’t funny. What should we do?”

     “Nothing. It’s none of our business.”

     “But what about Paula? She needs to know.”

     “Well, I’m not going to tell her. . . . Oh, my God!”

     “What is it, Gary?”

     “Huh?”

     “Didn’t you hear me?”

     “Sure did, but . . .”

     “But what?” Myra gulped.

     “They just got up and are heading right toward us.”

     “Should we duck and hide?”

     “It’s to late, Walter saw me.”

     Walter and the mystery woman approached. To my amazement, he didn’t appear at all uncomfortable that his liaison had been discovered. I looked him in the eye and chanted, “Hello, Walter. How are you?”

     He stared back at me and, with a blank expression on his face, uttered, “Huh?” And then turned toward the young woman.

     She shouted at him, "Walter, he asked how you are.”

     “Oh, fine, just fine.”

     “Are you going to introduce us to your friend, Walter?” I asked, in as polite a manner as possible.

     Again he turned toward his companion. She yelled, “He wants to know who I am.”

     “Oh, her. This is Lisa, . . . my ‘hearing aid.’”

     He smiled, bid us adieu, and the two of them walked briskly toward the door and left the diner.

     With my mouth wide open, I gasped, “That . . . that’s the kind I want.”

     Myra glared at me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead by now.

     The following week, additional information about Myra’s and my encounter with Walter and his paramour came to light. I was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Myra came in with a smirk on her face. “Gary, I have something very interesting to share with you.”

     “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Spit it out already.”

     “I just got off the phone with Robin. Seems she talked to Paula. And guess what?”

     “I don’t have a clue.”

     “Lisa isn’t Walter’s illicit lover, after all.”

     “Then who is she?”

     “She’s Walter’s distant cousin on his mother’s side. He’d just picked her up at the airport. They stopped for lunch before going home.”

     “So why all the mystery? Why didn’t he just introduce her as his cousin? And why the hearing aid gag?”

     “It seems Lisa never met Paula. So Walter developed this con with her to get Paula off his back about getting hearing aids. The accidental meeting with you and me made us the perfect audience for them to rehearse their scam.”

     “Okay. So how did it work with Paula?”

     “Not as well as it did on you and me. Walter’s got an appointment with an audiologist on Wednesday.”

     “Huh?”

Copyright © 2015 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.