Once upon a time, in a singularly angst-filled moment of spontaneity, a young maiden so decided to obtain a second ear piercing from an enchanted shoppe named Claire’s. I am she and yes – my definition of rebellion is an ultra tame piercing from a store that caters in Hello Kitty and Glee apparel. Haters gonna hate. Anyways, I was on the fence about the whole thing, staring through the Claire’s window like a pedophile.
How much was this going to hurt? Like shot-at-the-doctor or bullet-wound? But wait, should I really let pain deny me this rite of passage? Did I even want another piercing?
I probably looked like SNL’s Kaitlin at the mall…
Seriously, you have to watch the video.
Then I saw a little five-year-old girl walk in with her mother. The worker hoisted her into the chair, threw on some gloves and shot two little diamonds effortlessly through her fatty earlobes. She didn’t bat an eyelash. Alright. If this toddler could muster up the courage, then so could I. I was a nineteen-year-old woman, dangit.
So I did it.
Yes, it hurt. Yes, I made her count to three. No, I didn’t cry (much). Still, it was the crowning glory of my freshman year. Those two little gold studs stood for independence, unbreakable autonomy, and untouchable sass. Word. I felt cool, I felt confident…
And then they grew shut.
Two and half years later, I couldn’t even wiggle a post halfway into that vanishing freckle of a hole. Totally lame, right? Try as I might, I could not shove that blunt post through my ear, and the sass started to slowly slip away. This would never do. I would simply have to repierce them.
“Are you sure you don’t want to just go get them done at Claires again?” asked my roommate, Kasey. At least one of us has some sense.
“Positive. Why should I pay $20 for something I can do myself?”
Those are words to live by, folks – but not this day.
As any true 90s girl would do, I looked to The Parent Trap for inspiration. Candle. Check. Needle. Check. Earring. Check. We decided to make one last-minute substitution: lemon out, almond soap bar in. Fortunately, one hole needed only the sharper end of the starter earring. Bam. Piece of cake.
Then came the right ear.
Our friend Andrew was in the living room, having no part of my shenanigan. With my roommate staring in horror from the bathroom door (ready to hurl at any moment), I tried desperately to just shove that post through with raw, blunt force. No luck. I would have to use the needle. I ran the needle through the flame of my Paula Deen candle, Hallie Parker style, and poised to strike. Slowly, I pushed the needle’s point into the invisible opening. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Swollen and ticked off from previous attempts, my ear was having none of that. Defeat was inevitable.
“It’s okay,” said my roommate, walking away with a pat on the shoulder. “You can just have one second piercing. It will be cool.”
That did it.
Something snapped inside. Teeth gritted, muscles clenched, I shoved that needle all the way through.
With shaky, panic-stricken hands, I pulled the bloody needle out, grabbed the earring and shoved it in like a champ. My battle cry (i.e. choice words) flooded the apartment. Finally, after snapping the back into place, I zombie-marched into my roommate’s room – lifeless, void of emotion.
“Did you do it?!”
I just threw my arms in the air, Rocky style.
“Good girl! You don’t look so good. Do you need a hug?”
I sort of crawled into this awkward fetal position hug. We stayed like that for a while, until the hot, throbbing of my ears demanded another dose of icing.
“Get this girl some painkillers!” cried Andrew, rushing around like some wartime medic.
After several varieties of painkillers (taken simultaneously, of course) I returned to the scene of the crime, pictured below. If you’re of the squeamish variety, you should just scroll to the end. Really. There’s a dash of blood.
It’s been three days now, so let’s skip to the Q and A portion, shall we?
Q: So tell us, Laura, was Annie Parker overreacting in the film?
A: If anything, she was under-reacting for the sake of PG.
Q: Are you sure you aren’t just a wuss?
A: No comment.
Q: Do you wish you had just gone back to Claire’s?
A: Sometimes, but then I remember I have an awesome story.
Q: Do you recommend this method to others?
A: NO. NO. NO. DO NOT VAN GOH YOUR EAR ON MY BEHALF.
Q: In the end, was it worth it?
A: Ask me in 3 months.
Q: Laura, you are just so brave. Can we get a picture?!
The evil risk of infection had been overthrown by one foolishly courageous heart. Oh, how the people rejoiced! And so it was that the fair maiden and her glam-tastic golden studs lived happily ever after.
You are so brave, I am too scared to go get it pierced in a shop…I don’t even remember how the first time went, I was nine months old. Yeah, you read that right, its a local tradition.
PS. I love that movie 🙂
Thanks! I think I was seven when I got mine first pierced, so I had no idea what to expect. I don’t recommend it!
Thanks for the advice, I’ll keep that in mind next time I feel I need a second earring 🙂
What I would have given to record you screaming at the top of your lungs…
1.) Ohmugosh, I’ve been looking for that Kaitlin video online for forever! My sister and I also refer to it in everyday conversations/act it out, but I cant never find it online to show to the confused and concerned onlookers. Thank you.
2.) My parents made me get my ears pierced when I was fifteen on the day my sister turned ten and got hers pierced. I did cry. And probably begged for them not to make me do it. People stared. I yelled at the worker when she asked if I wanted to hold the bear, “No I do not want to hold the bear!” and more quietly, “I can’t do this…people are watching.” Cue person watching me turn her head nonchalantly to look at merchandise. It was probably the greatest thing my parents ever made me do. But don’t tell them I said that.
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