Until a few months ago, my belly button was pierced. I had planned to remove the piercing before turning 40; however, I was hoping to be back to the weight I was when I had the piercing done, just for old time's sake.....or something like that. Anyway, I was watching RuPaul's Drag Race (start your engines....sorry, tangent) and the episode centered around the contestants dressing several older gay men in drag. One of the older fellas had his navel pierced and actually had several rings or whatnot through it. Needless to say after seeing this, my piercing came out immediately.
I thought I'd tell the story of getting my belly button pierced. I had my ear pierced a few years prior: the first time by a piercing gun, although it never healed properly so I removed it; and finally, by a needle, which for whatever reason, I enjoyed. The moan that escaped my mouth seemed to intrigue the piercer...piercest...piercing dude. I thought getting my belly button done would be a piece of cake. (Cue the dum..Dum....DUUUUUUUUUUUUM!)
My boyfriend said he thought it was sexy and would pay (thanks!). So one Saturday in February, we went to the piercing shop just outside of Baltimore, hon. I have to point out that the establishment was extremely clean (hello, that's a good thing) and appeared to be a new facility (or at least recently renovated...again, a good thing). Anyway, this rather heavy and tall man with a bleach blond handlebar moustache (can you tell I'm in trouble already) took me to one of the back rooms. I removed my shirt and hopped onto the table.
Mr. Moustache inserted himself between my legs (I swear this isn't going to turn into a porno) and did his prep work (although that does sound like there was about to be some brownchickenbrowncow). He tells me to take deep breaths and on the count of three, he would do the piercing.
Inhale. Exhale.
1
Deep breathing going on.
2
Inhale....FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!
Without missing a beat, King Handlebar asks, "What did you call me?" and proceeds to laugh, before telling me that he has pierced 12 year old girls (bad BAD parents! I judge only because I started my own religion and am allowed to do so. See the entry on Timmyism.) who told him that it didn't hurt. My only response was a simple and sarcastic "They lied". I barely got this out before I was lying back on the table with a Popsicle in my mouth. Apparently, I was slightly lightheaded (I'm not a total wuss, I swear!) so he thought I could use the sugar or whatever. So as I'm enjoying my treat and he's doing his thing, he looks at me and asks, "Were you out drinking last night?". I assumed he was making conversation, so I replied that I had been. Turns out my reasoning for his question was wrong, because he proceeded to tell me that he thought so, because he's "Never had anyone bleed so much". (So, I'm apparently a wussy bleeder. Shut up 'Stache, you're making me rethink your tip.)
Consider that a lesson folks. If you're going to pierce something, don't drink the night before. (In my defense, this was in my younger days when I would go out to bars every weekend and drink....a lot. Seriously, a lot. Those days are way behind me. Now I have two glasses of wine and I'm ready for bed.)
That my friends, is the story of my former belly button piercing. It is also the story of how Arne bought me the gift of pain.
