My Eyebrow

I woke up around lunchtime a week ago, and decided to get a piercing. It was done in time for dinner. Considering a Prince Albert was basically out of the question, it was a matter of eyebrow or upper ear. But since I’m not one of those masochistic fucks who pierces for the pain, it was an easy choice.

Now, I didn’t have any grandiose reasons. If you want a piercing to fit in, they’re not universal enough, but if you’re trying to get a piercing to stand out, they’re too common. You can always do what I did and get it on the wrong eyebrow, but that’s neither here nor there.

Nor is it easy to rebel against parents who if you call on a Monday morning, ask you if you’re hung over or got laid last night.

Point is, I had a mental itch, and I scratched it. It was quick, painless, and only a brief intermission before my return to drinking. Irish tour group, specifically. I think it looks rather nice, but you can judge for yourself.



Wouldn’t it be nice if that were where the story ended?

It seems my face started to swell, and was slowly eating the piercing. Slightly unnerving sight. So I go back down to the store and see what they can do for me.

An older, proper looking gentleman, about my father’s age, was sitting on a bench. As I walk in, he’s called into the operation booth by a woman who would not survive an MRI. She holds out a cloth, and tells him “put this around your waist”. My imagination runs wild, and I wish it didn’t.

A few minutes later, they seat me back on the same chair as last week. “Amanda will be with you in a few minutes. She’s in the middle of a double nipple, and will help you when she finishes the right.” I wonder what happens if a woman with a nipple ring tries to breast feed her child. Will it squirt out of three holes?

Amanda happens to be 63, is half American and half Australian, and is pierced through basically ever orifice imaginable. She even invented her own orifices, including between her breasts. Isn’t that cheating?

Anyway, they dig the metal out of my face out of my face (not as painless as last time), and tell me to go home and get some frozen peas. Come back in two days. Then she rants about Bush for 20 minutes.

So back I come in 2 days. The half-breed is away, so I think I’m safe from having my ear chewed off. This is never the case. Instead, it’s some hippie in the food court my mom’s age. She invites me over to her house sometime to listen to old vinyl and cook Indian food. I anticipate jokes about taking what you can get.

Moving on. I’m no Wolverine, but apparently I heal fast. They need to re-stretch open the hole this time. The level of uncomfortable escalates each visit. Also turns out they’ll need to put in the larger size barbell for two weeks. So now instead of two cool black balls, I have a weird two-tone thing sticking out of my face. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m wearing the piercing equivalent of training wheels. This is why you never take your friend’s advice.