The day I got outfitted with my first hearing aid was a great day indeed. The whole family came along. The audiologist handed me a little box with two cords and two ear pieces, with an on/off switch and a little knob that controlled the volume. I was thrilled to be able to hear anything again, but the real reason that day was so great was this: the audiologist also gave me a multitude of beautiful and stylish slip-covers that would encase and protect my hearing aid in absolute beauty. Not only would El Deafo have supersonic hearing, she would look sensational anytime she felt like powering up. Just like the Bermuda bags of the 1980′s and the cell phone covers of now, I could match my hearing aid’s slip-cover with whatever I was wearing that day. Granted, I was in between my bikini-bathing-suit-at-all-times phase and my wear-the-same-clothes-for-two-weeks-straight phase, but just knowing that I could coordinate my hearing-aid with my outfit was power like never before. And the best slip-cover by far was orange with little white polka dots.
I wanted to look good. Before I had to wear the hearing aid, I would stand in front of a mirror, both clothed and naked, and think to myself, “I am so good-looking. Wow. Look at that.” My belief in my total fanatabulousness was gone now, and the slip-cover remedied my self-consciousness a bit. My mother might have noticed this; we went shopping for new outfits that would match some of the slip-covers. Instead of new outfits, I found a discounted after-Easter Easter bunny, dressed in a powder blue blazer, with a little hankerchief in his pocket. The hankie was orange with little white polka dots. El Deafo’s hearing aid would match her clothes, and her toys, too. Fantabulous!
Don’t suppose you have any pictures of that polka-dotted slip cover you could post? It sounds awesome.
I wish! It is long gone. I held onto it for a long time, though.