I broke down yesterday; the steely resolve that I had maintained for over a year caved under me and I bought myself a pair of these.
Here are the arguments with self before purchase:
Every time I buy a pair of earphones that won't stay in my ears but keep sliding out while I've got my two hands occupied with two dogs on extenda-leashes, and the music in the iPod might as well be coming out of a 1970s transistor radio, I can put up with this irritation in one of the central activities of my non-work day and go slowly -- no, make that quickly -- insane. To the tune of $20-30 a pair of these nonperformers.
Or I can take a chance that these will work. At worse I'll be out the pair of three pairs of the nonperforming earphones.
I am a cranky person who gets irritable about small things. For instance I go nearly nuts if there is dust between my toes. When I was small, things like my shoelaces not being tied tight enough, my braids not being braided tightly enough, my hair parted on the wrong side, the taste of brussels sprouts, onions on anything, the little girl from next door breathing too loudly while she was eating, these things would make me frantic. Not everything would make me frantic, but then, you never know which thing would do it next. I suppose it's a bit like having allergies. Now, I've mostly got this thing contained but in my struggles with the earphones it was definitely not contained. It broke out again in all its childishness and it even made the dogs nervous when I was standing mid-walk, holding the iPod and swearing at the old earphones.
Here are the arguments with self after purchase:
The entire contents of the iPod now and evermore hallelujah thank you jeebus. These earphones don't fall out of my ears. And inside my ears it sounds like I have some sort of wood-paneled cozy acoustical heaven, lined with good books and all sorts of brilliant thoughts waiting to pounce onto that big stack of cream-colored legal paper, and all, all is peace, no one even knows I'm here.
Except for Conscience and Prudence, who are stalking about with a distinctly martyred air, casting reproachful glances at me.