Men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage -

The words of Rita Rudner—“Men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage—they’ve experienced pain and bought jewelry.”—are wrapped in humor, yet beneath their laughter lies a thread of enduring wisdom. Though spoken in jest, the truth gleams like gold hidden in jesters’ words: that marriage demands both sacrifice and thoughtfulness, both the endurance of pain and the joy of giving. Rudner, with wit sharp as a sage’s tongue, reminds us that to love truly, a man must know how to bear discomfort and how to cherish beauty, for these two acts—enduring and giving—are the twin pillars upon which lasting union stands.

The ancients taught that humor is not the opposite of wisdom, but its disguise. In her light-hearted way, Rudner reveals that the pierced ear is a symbol: the small wound of love, accepted freely, as proof of devotion. For no bond endures without pain; no partnership thrives without offering. Just as a piercing leaves a mark—small, yet lasting—so too does marriage leave upon the soul an imprint of both joy and sacrifice. And the buying of jewelry, the thoughtful gift, mirrors the second truth: that love requires giving not out of duty, but out of delight. The man who has felt both—the sting and the generosity—has glimpsed the sacred rhythm of marriage.

Through ages past, the wise have spoken of this balance. The great Roman philosopher Seneca said that “to love is to be vulnerable,” and in those words echoes Rudner’s jest. For when one gives their heart to another, they invite both pleasure and pain. The pain is not punishment—it is the price of intimacy, the mark of humanity’s longing to belong. And the jewelry, the symbol of giving, is the outward gesture of inward tenderness—the way love adorns life with beauty. Thus, in her single sentence, Rudner condenses what poets and prophets have long known: that love, to endure, must be both tender and tough, generous and humble.

Consider the story of Pierre and Marie Curie, bound not only in marriage but in the pursuit of knowledge. Their union was forged in hardship—laboring long hours, facing rejection, enduring poverty and loss. Yet through their mutual devotion, they discovered radium, and with it, brought light from darkness—both literally and spiritually. Their love was not one of comfort, but of shared endurance and mutual offering. They bore the piercing pain of struggle and yet adorned their life’s work with the jewel of discovery. In their partnership, the spirit of Rudner’s humor lives: love that suffers willingly, and gives joyously.

When Rudner says that the pierced man is “better prepared,” she speaks of readiness for empathy. A man who knows the sting of pain will be gentler with his partner’s wounds. A man who delights in beauty will seek to bring joy to the one he loves. In such balance lies the art of marriage—not dominance nor submission, but mutual compassion. Those who fear pain flee at the first sign of trouble; those who hoard beauty refuse to share it. But those who can both suffer and give, endure and cherish, are those who build marriages that time cannot erode.

Let none mistake her humor for triviality. The pain of piercing is a lesson in humility—a reminder that love will wound, but those wounds can become places where light enters. And the buying of jewelry—the act of giving without demand—teaches that love thrives not in grand gestures, but in small, thoughtful offerings repeated across the years. Marriage is not a fortress built in a day, but a daily act of adornment: the choosing, again and again, to beautify what is shared.

The lesson, then, is this: do not fear the pain that love brings, nor neglect the beauty it requires. Let the piercing remind you that vulnerability is not weakness, but strength refined by tenderness. Let the jewelry remind you to give—of your time, your patience, your affection, your thought. The one who can endure discomfort for love, and who finds joy in giving, is truly prepared not only for marriage, but for all sacred bonds of life.

So remember, my child: though laughter may veil wisdom, its truth endures. Love will wound and heal, demand and delight, humble and exalt. If you can face its pain and still find joy in its giving, then you have pierced more than an ear—you have pierced the mystery of the human heart itself.