Earwax

My mother shakes a pair of waxy q-tips under my nose incriminatingly. My father glowers in the background, arms crossed, obviously too upset to speak to me. They say I should be cleaning my ears much more frequently than I have been. I am alarmed at this rapid turnabout, as just yesterday they were telling me never to clean my ears with a cotton swab. As they continue to berate me, I feel myself shrinking to the size of a child and I throw up my hands and submit. I grab two clean q-tips as I exit the room.