A very nice man at Sacred Heart jabbed a new hole in my left ear today. He had short black hair and a kind smile and only made fun of me a little bit when I chickened out on the rest of the planned piercings. Part of it was the shock of the needle, (AND THE SOUND), but mostly I had reached my pain tolerance for the day, as I had been walking too much, and the blast of heat from my ear reached down to my broken toe and together they screamed until I said, “stop”. Soon I will get more, perhaps even finish the job in one go, adding new tiny rings until I get to my lucky number, all the way up to the top.
Honestly, I was hoping to have my right ear pierced in time for the wedding, the better to fit in, as I feel a bit like the odd one out, the overly unique creature tacked on to a traditional ceremony, vivid and different and possibly too bright. I wanted, at least, in the very least, to no longer be lopsided, especially given how together the people are who I’m standing with, as I help walk Kyle and Lisa up the aisle. Instead, I now have two holes in my left ear and zero in my right. Plan: excellent. Execution: could have gone better.
The new plan, which is, I admit, the old plan that I didn’t go through with, is to dope myself up with pain pills, then have them go through and give me a total row of six on the left side and two on the right. (There’s something about odd numbers I dislike.) Possibly, when I am so threaded with holes, I might finally get around to putting a small stud in my nose as well, though when I think about them all at once, I can’t help but think I’m crazy. Not as mad as planning a tattoo, but still, since when was this the sort of thing I craved?