I think men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for

In the lighthearted yet piercing humor of Rita Rudner, we discover a truth cloaked in laughter: “I think men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage. They've experienced pain and bought jewelry.” Though her words come from the stage of comedy, they carry the rhythm of ancient wisdom disguised as jest. For in this playful observation lies a reflection on the dual nature of marriage—its joy and its burden, its laughter and its labor. Like all enduring unions, Rudner’s wit weds humor to truth, and what seems a quip becomes a quiet philosophy on love, humility, and human growth.

Rudner, a comedian famed for her sharp wit and gentle tone, spoke these words during an age when humor had become the new mirror of wisdom. Behind her jest lies an understanding that marriage requires both endurance and empathy—the ability to endure pain and to give with generosity. The man with a pierced ear, she suggests, has already tasted both: the sting of discomfort and the cost of adornment. Thus, he stands symbolically ready for the trials and sacrifices of union. The quote’s humor endures because it speaks through paradox: it transforms trivial symbols—an earring, a moment of pain—into metaphors for love’s eternal truths.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Rudner’s mastery of observation. Like the philosophers of old who turned simple acts into lessons for life, she takes a modern ritual of style and reveals the deeper reflection beneath it. The act of piercing, though seemingly frivolous, becomes a small rehearsal for the compromises and endurance that marriage demands. For in love, as in piercing, one must accept pain for the sake of beauty, and investment for the sake of joy. Rudner’s humor, therefore, is not mockery but medicine: she invites laughter not to dismiss the truth, but to sweeten its sharpness.

Consider, as an illustration, the story of Socrates and Xanthippe, his fiery wife. History tells us that their marriage was stormy, filled with argument and tension. Yet Socrates, ever the philosopher, saw in her temperament a teacher of patience. “Marry,” he once said, “by all means; if you get a good wife, you'll become happy; if you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher.” In his jest, as in Rudner’s, humor veils wisdom. He, too, understood that marriage refines the soul through trial and tenderness alike. The one who learns to laugh through pain, and to cherish despite difficulty, achieves the truest understanding of love’s purpose.

Rudner’s quip also speaks to the balance of giving and receiving that sustains marriage. To “buy jewelry,” in her metaphor, is to give of oneself—to sacrifice pride, wealth, or comfort for the joy of another. It is a gesture of acknowledgment, an act that says, “I see you, and I honor you.” The man who understands this gesture has already glimpsed the sacred art of marriage: that love is not sustained by passion alone, but by thoughtful generosity. In humor, she teaches what poets and saints have taught for centuries—that to love is to serve, and that even the smallest acts of kindness can become offerings of devotion.

There is also humility in her humor. By equating marriage with both pain and adornment, Rudner acknowledges that love is not perfection, but persistence. It is not a paradise free of struggle, but a garden that must be tended despite the thorns. The laughter her words provoke disarms the listener, but the lesson lingers: those who would marry must learn to endure discomfort without resentment and to give without calculation. In her gentle irony, she offers not cynicism, but preparation—the kind that turns comedy into quiet courage.

So let the teaching of Rita Rudner be remembered as one might remember the parables of the old philosophers: that even in jest, there lies a map for the human heart. The man—or woman—who can endure a little pain and still find joy in giving is ready for the deeper art of love. Laugh at the truth, yes, but do not dismiss it. For laughter that springs from understanding is wisdom in disguise.

And thus, children of love and laughter alike, take this lesson to heart: marriage is both the pain of piercing and the beauty of the jewel. It asks for patience, generosity, and humor in equal measure. Learn to smile through hardship and to give without keeping score. For in doing so, you will not only be ready for marriage—you will be ready for life itself.