I’ve got myself a pre-40th bucket list; a list of things that MUST happen before I turn 40. They must happen because if they don’t, well, then, the world ends. I know this to be true. I talked to the Mayans.
One thing on this bucket list is to pierce my nose. That’s right, I’m 39 and have never pierced my nose. Don’t ask me what’s wrong with me? And if you do, I’ll assume the position of your question is “Why the hell haven’t you pierced your nose yet?” Not, “Why the hell do you want to pierce your nose?”
So I did it. Last weekend, during a girls weekend in Chicago. While sober. No joke. I was sober in Chicago for 15 minutes and I took advantage of it. Let’s call it my window of opportunity.
My girls and I hunted down a tattoo parlor the only way we know how. Google. Place looked good online, fancy pretty website and all, which meant is was gonna be good in real life. Except it wasn’t. Or more like we will never know. It was closed.
Was this fate telling me I’m a dumb ass? (shut up, Dad) Was one closed tattoo parlor gonna crush my dreams? Oh no, it wasn’t. We googled another place, rode in a taxi cab a little further north and there sat my personal Nirvana. (PLEASE NOTE: when I say “there sat” I mean down an alley we may or may not have gotten lost in, between a sex shop or two.)
Finally we found our place. And now my palms were officially sweating. This was happening. Up to the counter I went and said to the guy with 47 piercings, tattoos and branding, “I’m a suburban housewife and I’m out with my girls and I would like to stick a pretty little diamond in my nose. How much does it hurt?” Okay, this isn’t what I really said, but I’m guessing that’s what he heard.
Next up, were papers to sign, aftercare instructions to review, papers to sign, equipment to sterilize, papers to sign and a back room to enter. Oh my!
I took all my friends in the back room with me. Not cause I was scared, just cause THEY wanted to see how it was done. I, however, can’t tell you how it was done. I had my eyes closed the entire time and may broken the hand of my kind friend who offered it up. What I can tell you is I’ve officially now had some strange man stick his finger up my nose, had a 3-4 inch needle (looked like a foot long, I swear) through my nose and wiped “a little bit of blood which proves I’m a human, not a robot” off my nose. Ummm, thanks weird Dude!
And here it is. My “is it glitter? does she have a piercing?” nose piercing.
Now a week later, I can wrinkle my nose without feeling like someone punched me and I’ve learned to remember it’s there and to not violently wipe sweat from my nose (holy shit, that hurts!)
Now on to the next fun things on this list. And apparently I’m gonna add Botox. Are you kidding me with all the wrinkles in that photo? Good Lord!