Body modification has become a popular and mainstream concept. Where once only bikers, sailors, and ex-cons had tattoos (though, often, those were all the same people) now it’s not unheard of for grandparents to sport them. Body modification is, of course, tattoos and piercings mainly.
I’ve had my fair share of piercings, though I have no ink at present. Recently I decided that it was time for a new piercing or two. I loaded up the boys and met my mother, Nonnie, and sister, the Illustrious Chicken, at the local mod shop, Body Canvas. Incidentally, I highly recommend Body Canvas over other similar businesses, if you’re looking here in Rome. You can tell immediately upon entering Body Canvas that it is a quality establishment and doesn’t have a three-person-per-needle policy. Ew. Now, I’m not saying that other places are unclean, but I will say that it is definitely off-putting to go into a tattoo parlor that smells like blood and rubbing alcohol. I’m just saying.
I invited Nonnie and The Chicken to my piercing party so that they could cull the babies for me. As we walked in we were met with a whole herd of people in the waiting area. The girl behind the counter stuck her head around them to ask what I was wanting done. I told her and she gave me a waiver to sign as she took one of the flock into the back for a tongue piercing. I signed the paper, declaring that I was not a hemophiliac nor had I had hepatitis in the last 12 months, and left it on the counter.
So we all waited in this room. Looking around we noticed that all the people ricocheting from one counter to another were children. Big children, but children. The Chicken, who was holding four month old Sully, was perusing the tattoo pictures when one of these kids informs her that she shouldn’t be letting him look at such things. Now, as I was not standing there, I could not comment, but seriously? This child is doing good to know what an arm is, let alone a drawing on one.
Then it registered that there were no adults with these kids. The only two adults had meandered down the hall, one to be pierced and one to watch. Perhaps it’s just my opinion but I’m pretty sure that that woman’s tongue would take care of itself; the baker’s dozen of children would not. As it was I had to tackle Connor twice as he was making a break for the hallway. Then he started walking in circles around a counter and I had to chase him back out one side. Then a couple of the heathen kids started to kind of follow him and once I swear they were trying to pen him behind the counter. I guess parenting really is overrated.
I think I may have made this sound somewhat calmer than it was. To me, it had the ambiance of an ant bed that had been stomped.
Shortly thereafter, though not shortly enough, the two adults emerged and all the kids began to file out of the shop. Connor almost went right along with them, but I caught him and stuck him with Nonnie. The piercer girl came back to the front and took the form, asking for my driver’s license. I told her not to get too jealous of the picture. She laughed when she saw it. The best way I can describe the look on my face is a disgusted smirk. She said all I was missing was the finger. I was six months pregnant when it was taken, not looking my best let’s say. She gave it back to me and told me to follow her. Yes, Connor could have come back but I don’t know how he would react to seeing a needle shoved through his mother’s flesh. So Nonnie and Connor went for a walk while Sully and The Chicken accompanied me to the room.
Sitting on the table, I asked if it would hurt. I have had two kids and I’m asking if a piercing would hurt. She said not really. All I could do was take her word for it. I laid down and gazed at all the posters plastered on the walls. And, no, it didn’t really hurt but for a second. Although, the second one hurt more than the first. It’s always like that when you get a pair. I wonder why that is. Piercer Girl didn’t know why either. So it was done and I laid there a minute before attempting to get up, because passing out after a piercing is not what I would call the height of cool.
I successfully got up and headed for the door. Nonnie and Connor were just coming back in. So, with my new piercings, we left the building. We all loaded back up in the cars to leave.
At this point, I’m sure you’re wondering what it was I got pierced. I could keep it a secret, but it’ll be seen eventually. I have a new set of...earrings. Yeah, boring, isn’t it? But I’ll bet now you know of all the pairs of body parts you can pierce, just from wondering.
I had my ears pierced once when I was eight, at some place in the mall called the Earring Tree. It’s not a real tree, I checked. They used a piercing gun. Later on, with another piercing that I am not going to elaborate on, I was informed that no self-respecting piercer would ever use a gun. It’s needles or nothing. So I have adhered to that ever since, not that I am a piercer or anything.
Earrings at eight weren’t right for me. There’s photographic evidence. Apparently I had a penchant for long, dangly earrings. With anything. Even contrasting striped outfits. Somehow in my mind a shirt with wide blue and purple horizontal stripes paired well with red and gray pinstripe shorts, especially with the blue and silver feather earrings. Dear God. Add in that bowl cut and you’ve got a fashion hangover, my friend.
I wonder where those earrings are.