End of an earring?
My past life, in tangles. May 2025. The other night, when visiting friends at their home, the resident 8-year-old said to another friend (a fellow 40-something mom), "I like your earrings!" My friend's earrings were indeed cool—big, green-and-white, leaf-shaped, dangly fabric affairs offset by her curly bob. My hand went involuntarily to my own modest studs, nowhere near as flashy or comment-worthy, and I noticed with a jolt of surprise that I felt ... jealous. Not jealous of the earrings, not jealous of the attention—jealous of the fact that she was wearing them at all. I used to be that kind of accessorizer. Somewhere in my college and young adult years, I picked up on earrings as my one type of statement jewelry. No bracelets or necklaces for me; I was earrings or bust. They became my go-to souvenir when traveling, my dopamine hit when window-shopping, my little spot of joy each time I had occasion to match the perfect pair to a special outfit. There, the yellow leathe...
