On, now, to the belly button and porn shop. *sigh* The things we mothers do for our offspring never ceases to amaze me.
For my daughter Christina's 17th birthday she wanted only two things: contact lenses and a pierced belly button. Her big sis, Stephanie, offered to cover the piercing; hubby and I sprang for the contacts.
After researching piercing shops, Stephanie found a reputable place with three locations and strict adherence to sterile and legal practices. So far, so good.
At nine o'clock on a Friday night Christina and a friend, Stephanie and I pulled into the parking lot. Limited space forced me to park my sensible and matronly Ford 500 sedan not in front of the piercing shop, but further down the way in front of . . .*sigh*. . . a porn shop. Location, location, location. More than one odd look came my way when I exited my vehicle accompanied by three young adults, two of them obviously teenagers. The fact that Stephanie's two miniature Dachshunds came along for the ride completed our ducks-out-of-water scenario.
I confess to never being that close to a porn shop before. I don't know if I should brag about my moral fortitude or be embarrassed by my naivete. I might have peeked in the window, maybe, a little, as I rushed the kids past at lightning speed. ("Keep moving, keep moving, nothing to see here, nothing at all, go, go, go!") I'll post about my snooping another time. . .after a few margaritas. Maybe.
A pleasant guy named John pierced my daughter's belly. His jokes eased her jitters and settled my frantic mommy nerves. The skin just above her navel was first sanitized, then clamped and sanitized a second time. His latex clad hands took expert hold of a needle the size of a roofing nail and he pushed it by hand---no quick piercing gun like those used for ear piercing---through the skin. One word to describe the process. EEEWWW!!!
It took longer to fill out the paperwork prior to the piercing than to get the piercing itself. After the grand event we oohed and aahed at Christina's newly studded navel and then I speed-walked everyone back to Flossie Ford. ("Hurry, hurry, get in, get in, don't look to the right, hurry, hurry, hurry!")
This experience taught me several things. First, I do not want to have a roofing nail shoved through my skin. Ever. Second, the next time I have to park in front of a porn shop, I'm going to pretend I did it on purpose so strangers will not point and laugh. Third, bonding with my daughters rocks, even when it includes a large tattooed man wielding roofing nails and the unexpected presence of a porn shop.
Til next time -
Lisa
Clip art courtesy of Webweaver.nu
