Every time I feel like my mother has served her purpose as my mother and I am one step closer to being an independent adult, she finds a way to prove me wrong.
Today I finally quenched my longtime thirst for a piercing when I went to PB today with Mary. In my insomnia the night before, I had come up with the idea to get a double cartilage piercing, and that was the plan.
After a few hours I finally faced my mother. When I let her know what I had gotten, she did not respond with anger --she rolled her eyes.
She told me she thought cartilage was over-done, and frankly unremarkable. I was crushed. I thought it was special, creative, if you will.
So I spent the next thirty minutes inspecting my ear in the mirror, each second becoming less and less enchanted with it. So I left my house, once again, to have Ironhead Mike take them out.
Turns out Ironhead Mike (should have been a red flag) goes home at 6 pm. I journeyed down Garnet about 7 steps to the next tattoo shop and asked if someone there would do it instead. When he took them out there was plastic all over the steel bars. PLASTIC. I would have been infected beyond my wildest dreams in 24 hours. Thank you God. And Mom.
After the unsatisfactory piercing was removed, I opted for another, very different piercing. Couldn't be happier that I now, as my mom puts it, have "a piercing with a purpose."
How will you remember your St. Paddy's Day? (If at all...)
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